Once Bitten
by bobmcbobbob1
Summary: Erik walks alone in a cemetery, caught in his own thoughts of the lost Christine when a strange visitor gives him a unique oppertunity. Erik is no longer surrounded by blood. He thrives on it. EC. Sink your teeth in
1. A Proposition

**The Usual**: Don't own the characters or the original _Phantom of the Opera_ storyline nor Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber's music (if I get around to using it… we'll see), I just like to manipulate it all in my own little world. -:maniacal laughter:-

**The Jist**: The goal here is E/C romance eventually (woo hoo!), Raoul friendly (because I don't hold much against him),and the story itself is post everything (you know what I mean, right?). I'm trying something new…at least I haven't seen anyone else try it. Hopefully I'm not spoiling anything by putting this, but I also don't know a lot about vampires so I'm making up a few of my own rules. Should probably go back and add that I don't own Bram Stoker's _Dracula_ but technically the book was written after this timeline anyway so I can't use it without taking full advantage of the artistic license thing. :)

Let's see how it goes. Enjoy!

* * *

**Once Bitten…**

Erik pulled his cloak closer around his broad shoulders. It was not the first time he asked himself what had possessed him to leave the Opera Populaire for the supposed comfort of the frigid air and biting wind, but at least he was alone and away from the racket of reconstruction. It seemed no matter how many members of the construction crew he killed, another three took his place with an eager hammer, effectively smashing Erik's artistic and creative flow.

He shivered slightly then ignored the cold more effectively, disgusted that such a simple thing as a winter chill should disrupt his reverie. No, he ignored the creeping freeze that was slowly saturating his shoes as he tramped through the deep snow. He scowled slightly, afraid his evening dress would be incomplete without his shined black boots should they be ruined. Erik reminded himself yet again that he had indeed _chosen_ to walk about on a lone winter night. He took in where his feet had carried him. _A cemetery, how fitting_. Erik stopped walking and the only sound was the soft patter of large snowflakes accumulating with their brothers.

Sighing heavily and shaking the snow from his shoulders, he made his way past the aged, squeaking gates. _Silence at last._ It was true, even during peak market hours there was always silence here in the alcoves of trees and tombstones. And besides, few searched for Death amongst the dead. Running his fingers over a random marker, Erik dusted the snow away and reminisced both fondly and darkly. In this very cemetery, he had lured Christine and it was this same place he had frequented when the police had claimed to be searching for him. After some time, it was easier just to escape than listen to their pitiful cries for help or their jeering jokes when they believed no one was there to hear their threats and boasts. Erik could only take so much disruption in his work, especially at such depressing point in his life. Christine was gone.

He could have kept her. She would have stayed, if he'd commanded her to. But he'd let her go. Erik turned his head sharply, ordering his mind to forget; it was safer than remembering. Too late, tears formed in the corners of his eyes as the scar tissue tore readily. Willing his mind to ignore the pain, he forced the memories away, back to the subconscious where they would reappear in his dreams yet again.

Erik again questioned what had driven him to leave the walls of the opera on such a dreary, lonely night. The moon broke through the clouds with a brilliant glow that reflected off Erik's mask and the surrounding snow. His mind instantly drifted to another luminous memory: the lamps around the edge of the stage as he stepped out in Piangi's place, reveling in the glory of his work and the passion that passed between himself and Christine.

As the moon was smothered in shadow, so reflected Erik's thoughts as he naturally returned to what she had done soon after. Raising a hand to his face, Erik recalled his shame and the mortification of betrayal when Christine performed her own cruel torture and unmasked him before the full house. Screams still echoed in his mind.

Yet for all she had done he loved her still. Erik could not fathom the emotion, never understanding that love was never to be completely understood by anyone, and when he was honest with himself it scared him but thrilled him all at once. He had dreamt of simple daily caresses, of lying next to her in the same bed, of spending intimate moments in front of a blazing grate. _Sometimes, it does not do to hope_.

The moon emerged from the clouds once more and Erik glanced up indifferently, watching the snowflakes fall as he clasped his hands behind his back and meandered between the aisles of graves, shifting from one foot to the other slowly. It was a lovely scene, the pristine snow easily blanketing the broken tombstones, decayed flowers, and dormant trees. _If only my scars could be covered so efficiently_.

The Daàe mausoleum stood before him, unchanged since he'd last seen it save for six fresh roses dusted with snow near the door. Erik grimaced and turned away again, gritting his teeth slightly in an effort to restrain emotions. Christine had been here and not long ago, but there were two sets of footprints in the snow. Nearly choking on unreleased sobs building to a pounding pressure in his chest, he sat down on a stone bench pushing his palms to his eyes to prevent impending tears.

Remembering he was alone, Erik pulled the mask from his face and stared at it through bleary icy-blue eyes. He ran his fingers down the surface of the mask; the scars of his miserable childhood, solitary adolescence, and his tortured adult life were covered by a mask of a different sort, one acquired through time and experience. Far too often he lost himself in the mask he presented to the world. He had thought Christine would be the one to get through that mask and for a time she did. But in the end, it only made him vulnerable for a worse rejection. There were times when he was sure it was worth it; whether it was better to have love and lost than not at all was subject to internal (and eternal) debate.

A few branches rustled in the wind and Erik eyes instantly followed the waving tree. _It's just a tree, don't be so nervous_. Nevertheless, he resumed a high guard.

"Oy! You!"

Erik tensed at the voice. He sat up sharply, bearing a dagger while his eyes searched for the source. The only sound was that of his fluttering cloak and his own carefully controlled breathing. No corner of a jacket or a wisp of hair met Erik's vision as he carefully scoped the landscape.

"Hey, you!"

Erik moved slowly around, checking his surroundings more closely. By the sound of the voice, it could have come from nearly any direction.

"You could just answer. It would be the proper response."

An incredulous look passed through Erik's features before he quickly concealed it with a blank expression. "Where are you?"

"My, my. Demanding, eh?"

Erik grinned internally; this man didn't know the half of it. "So I've been told."

"Just calm down and put your mask back on."

Erik had to fight harder to remove evidence of shock from his face as he walked back over to where his mask had fallen from his lap. Brushing off the snow, he thought it best to comply, bide his time.

"Just take a seat. I'm not sure where to begin."

"Where are you? Who are you?"

"Yes, very demanding. Well, who I am will come later but I'm right in front of you."

Arching an eyebrow skeptically, Erik waved his hand before him. "There's no such thing as ghosts, monsieur. I ought to know."

"Ah, yes. Monsieur le Fantôme, I should have known. You're the reining expert," the voice replied sarcastically. Erik's eyes widened with surprise. "Yes I know who you are but let's just say you're not the only one who can hide in the shadows. Now _look_ this time."

Erik, not entirely certain that he wasn't dreaming, stood from his bench and walked forward. Looking for anything that could possibly be the source of the voice, he finally came up to a small tree though certain that no man could hide behind the thin trunk.

"Where are you?" he repeated.

The voice sighed. "Over here, you dolt."

Erik's eyes flashed with anger but he turned to his left and saw a strange dark clump in the branches. Inspecting more closely, he saw that it was a common bat.

He muttered to himself, "That's ridiculous. An ordinary bat can't talk."

The creature twisted its head to size Erik up. "Well if you say so, I suppose then I'm far from ordinary."

Gasping with surprise, Erik took a few quick steps back. The bat melted into a shadow and slid down the tree trunk with amazing speed and grace. The shadow, more than a mere shade, seemed made of the darkest night as it slid across the pure snow, dulling the sparkling glint. The shadow expanded and stretched until it was nearly as tall as Erik before materializing into a man. Erik stumbled back again. The man grinned mildly and gestured with his hand, "Have a seat before you pass out." Erik's knees automatically folded under him and he smacked down on the cold stone bench once more.

Erik took in the man before him. He had fair hair, drawn back in a ponytail. His clothes would not be out of place in high society with elegant deep grey slacks and matching jacket along and a deep blue vest, all covered by a black cloak. The man's eyes were dark, nearly black.

"Are you quite finished?"

Embarrassed, Erik stammered momentarily before collecting himself again though any further questions were waved aside.

"Never mind that now, we can get to questions later. Honestly, don't you know your folklore? Anyway," the man flashed a malevolent smile displaying perfect white teeth with two oversized canines, "I have a proposition for you."

It wasn't the last time Erik wondered why he had ventured out into the cold winter night.

∞†∞

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**Authoress Babbling:** (I'm so happy my dividers semi-showed up) So how's that for a beginning? Input would be greatly appreciated; I'm still trying to figure out where to go. I have a few vague concepts that I want to include but so far this has been one of those pieces where you sit down and write and you never really know what's going to come out. Ideas, comments, I need to fix something, dare I say praise?.. okay maybe that was too much to ask :) Anyway, Please let me know! 


	2. Thoughts and Answers

Nothing has changed since last post, I still don't own _The Phantom of the Opera_. (No sudden Leroux inheiritence or any passing of copyright laws from ALW, etc.)

**Anyway**...I hope you enjoy it, I've really enjoyed writing it thus far. My other stories I had mostly finished before posting but this one... oh this one has been so much fun! I even did a little research of my own free will to help with what I could.

And THANK YOU's to: MagickAlainne, Neori, Witchy-grrl, Susie Q, and tomluver123. You guys rock my world, thank you so much for reviewing. I hope I don't fail any of you. :)

**Now, onward**...

* * *

Christine stared at the elegant coverings of her lavish bed. Such opulence she felt she could never entirely adjust to. Sighing heavily, she twisted again as she sought a comfortable position. Turning to her side, Christine glanced around absently. The entire room was shrouded in tones of grey, black, and blue. The normal pale yellow walls took on an eerie glow, reflecting the moonlight pouring through the window that opened up to a small balcony. The door to her private bathroom was partway closed and she could see half of the large bathtub from the sheen of the full moon. Her gaze fell to her closed armoire; Raoul had supplied her with more splendid gowns that she would need in a lifetime and Christine believed many too expensive to wear. 

Her thoughts fell to Raoul as she glanced at the faint sparkle from the ring on her finger. She had put off their wedding for three months now; the pressures of becoming a vicomtesse were nearly overwhelming. And with the sudden death of Philippe, becoming a comtesse was no less daunting.

But she admitted to herself that wasn't the real reason she continued to push the wedding date as far from the present as possible. From course of habit, Christine's mind returned to the other man who plagued her thoughts. She chided herself everyday for leaving Erik in the dank catacombs of the Opera Populaire, guilt rising in her chest each time she remembered his voice, his expressive and brilliant eyes, his face. Truly she was not horrified by his disfigurement; she knew what beautiful potential rested in his soul and occasionally graced the world with a small piece of perfection.

Christine vowed she would never be so shallow as to miss Erik's soul again…but then the newsprint had eradicated whatever hope had managed to survive. Christine was shocked that three simple words could cause such heartache; her Angel of Music was dead. She could no longer entertain dreams that he would sneak to the De Chagny estate and steal her away to Nice or Biarritz or Brighton for that matter or other imaginings where she returned to Paris herself to beg his forgiveness and acceptance.

Raising a hand to her lips, her mind flashed back to all the shared emotions and unspoken feelings that had passed between herself and Erik with their first and only kiss. At the time, she had told herself that it was all to save Raoul's life (he was, after all, her fiancé) but it turned into what had frightened her most that unforgettable evening.

Oh, she cared for Raoul—he was the sweetest man any woman could ask for—yet since that night an invisible distance had been set between them, both traumatized from the experience in different ways. Furthermore, Raoul was still rather distraught. Raoul had not taken Philippe's passing well, staying up for nights on end and ignoring his health to a frightening degree all in the name of mourning his brother and father figure; Christine understood her betrothed's grief, recalling back to the death of her own father.

Thoughts of her father only led her back to Erik yet again. She missed him dearly and the music that he'd brought into her life. She'd sung no more than a few unconnected notes since the night she'd last seen him, finding that using the gift he'd helped sculpt was almost painful.

Rotating herself again, she sighed despairingly. Nothing was turning out as Christine had planned her fairy tale ending: her fair knight kept to his side of the castle and she mourned the dragon slain under her hand.

She forced the thoughts from her mind. She had made a promise to Raoul and she swore she would be the best wife she could… she was just in no hurry to get there.

Exhaling deeply after a yawn, Christine hummed a short lullaby that Erik had sung to her long ago before memories started a fresh flood of tears and she cried herself to sleep. _Goodnight, Erik. May the angels watch over your soul_.

∞†∞

Erik collected his thoughts as best he could considering the bizarre circumstances forced upon him. The strange man paced absentmindedly as he mumbled to himself, apparently still trying to find the right words. Erik watched him carefully, ready to defend himself at any given moment. His focus wandered momentarily as he took in the man's features again; he looked familiar but Erik couldn't place him. Irritated, Erik finally repeated his question, "Who are you?"

The man stopped pacing and turned to look at Erik. "Oh, sorry. I suppose that's likely as good a place as any to begin. My name's Philippe." He held out his hand and Erik only stared at it skeptically, Philippe's attitude entirely foreign to him. "Of course, the Phantom of the Opera is rarely one for pleasantries, yes?" Without waiting for an answer, Philippe retracted his hand and continued to walk back and forth on his path in the snow: "Well, as I was saying before, I have a proposition for you. A unique offer." He turned to face Erik as if expecting a response. "You do know what I am, don't you?"

"Not entirely," Erik replied curtly.

"My, my. And I thought you were clever." Erik glared but made no other response. "Well, obviously I'm a vampire. Does that mean anything to you?"

"There are several conflicting views on what a vampire is supposed to look like and behave, monsieur. You cannot expect me to know them all."

"No, I suppose not. Besides some are rather ridiculous, like garlic. It doesn't bother me more than it does any other man, but I've met a few villagers that were certain it would ward me off." He smiled mischievously. "Little good it did them. But anyway, that's beside the point. I've been drawn to you, Erik, and I'm offering you a chance to join me."

Erik looked blankly at Philippe. "Why me?"

Philippe leaned against the tree where he'd hid earlier. "I can't explain it entirely but it's just part of everything, knowing who to bring to the Circle. And anyway, you're already a creature of the night."

"The Circle?"

Philippe gestured widely, "Not now, not now. We'll get there. Anyway, I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime, of life itself actually. Think about this, would you like to see the world?"

"I've seen much of this world," Erik replied darkly.

"But have you seen all of it? Would you like to see the future, Erik? Would you like to see how Paris evolves through the years? Would you like to compose indefinitely and never worry about physical restrictions again?" To prove his point, Philippe climbed a set of invisible stairs until he was around five feet off the ground. "You've confused an opera house, now you could command a city. I'm offering you eternity."

"How is this possible?" Erik asked with a cool confidence.

The snow muffled the sound as Philippe jumped down. "Now that is the question. No one is quite sure. Are you familiar with English poetry?"

Erik stared questioningly at his comrade, "What? Yes, I suppose so."

"I'll reacquaint you with a little legend then, perhaps you can do your own research. You've heard of Lord Byron, yes?" Erik nodded grudgingly, slightly insulted by Philippe's tone. "Some number of years ago, around 1816 I believe the story goes, he issued a challenge to a few members of his party to write a ghost story. From this, _Frankenstein_ was created and Lord Byron himself started a compilation of vampire legends but it was a man named Polidori who gave a more distinguished image in _The Vampyre_. His rendition is a little more accurate, he had first hand experience. I could ask him for a copy."

"How? Didn't he commit suicide?"

"I said he had first hand experience, did I not? Oh, the world thinks he's dead but don't they believe the same of you?"

Erik conceded his point.

"So what do you say? You could live the rest of your meaningless days moping around your lair or you can start a new adventure."

"How about I just strangle you and forget you ever imposed upon my privacy?" Erik growled menacingly as he pulled out his ever-ready Punjab lasso. Philippe laughed. Erik's anger blazed; he was _mocking_ him. With the dexterity of years of experience, Erik slipped the noose around his neck and pulled it taunt, successfully interrupting Philippe's laugh.

Despite the pressure on his trachea, Philippe managed to squeak, "Oh, you could try to kill me, Erik, but you won't find it that simple." With that, he dissipated, transmuting back into a mere shadow. Erik found himself holding an empty cord, staring as the indiscernible black re-formed next to him and a hand clutched around his own throat, raising him from the earth. "No, you won't find it that easy." Erik stared with hatred into the man's eyes, his still lit with light humor but now a twinge of anger. "You're fearless, I'll give you that, but your manners are lacking." Philippe tossed Erik aside with an amazing strength that did not seem possible with his size.

Erik stared, incredulous, at Philippe before slowly standing up, brushing off the snow.

"I'm still waiting for an answer. What have you got to lose?"

Erik lowered his head and thought for a moment. "How can I trust you?"

"Does that matter? What do you want to know?"

"How does one achieve these…abilities?"

"There are two ways to join the Circle. Either through a direct invitation, such as this, and the rituals therein or a blood union, but that's a different matter."

"Restrictions?"

"Ah, yes, the restrictions. Stay out of the sunlight, it will kill you. You will have to meet the Circle of course and there may be occasions where you'd be asked to perform some task. I would advise against divulging your secret. Torches and pitchforks always seem to follow. And, yes of course, there's the simple matter of drinking blood to survive, never more than three hours dead; not only does it taste horrible but it may kill you."

"Drink blood?" Erik's eyes widened again. He'd lived surrounded by blood but to depend on it to survive...

"You get used to it. Surely you knew that already, why the shock? That's one aspect all the stories agree on." Philippe shrugged. "I'll teach you everything you'll need to know. So what do you say?"

Erik sat down on the stone bench yet again and stared at the snow in front of him. A gift with a price. Christine was gone, what did he have left to lose? "I have _nothing_ to lose. Alright, Philippe. I accept your offer." Erik shivered lightly at the pleased grin on Philippe's face.

"The Circle will be most pleased. Shall we get started?"

∞†∞

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**More Authoress Blabbering**: Shall we indeed Philippe :). Ooo, I feel like writing some more now...(blowing off my Philosophy paper sounds like a brillant idea...). 

If you like it, I'll update sooner if I know people are reading it...(:wink, hint, nudge:)

Love it or hate it, please let me know! (Also looking for ideas if something strikes you.)


	3. Memories and a Ritual

Yep, don't own the Phantom otherwise I'd be swimming in my money right now (j/k). Just writing for the sheer enjoyment of writing; do I need any other reason:)

Short chapter (with a bit of flashback-ness) but I'm hoping to put another up pretty quick here to make up for it (as in sometime this weekend). Hope you like it!

* * *

Madame Giry walked tentatively down the dark, hidden stairs. In her arms, she held all the supplies she could manage to scrounge together as she made her way to Erik's home. Danielle Giry had continuously brought what she could to Erik for the past few months, certain that he would eat nothing otherwise. He'd once claimed to be a ghost but now he moved through the world more a specter than he'd ever been. 

She thought back to the night of Erik's ill-fated opera; the show was glorious, having been touched by the hand of a master, but the repercussions were horrible and numerous:

_After she'd led Raoul to the passageway, she'd paced back and forth in her room for what seemed hours until she embarked to follow after him only to meet both Raoul and Christine near her door. Raoul was white as a sheet but Christine had a fierce blush on her cheeks and was in an obvious state of distrait, lost in her thoughts. After a garbled explanation from Raoul occasionally softened by Christine's comments, Mme Giry dared to march deeper into the Phantom's lair than she had for ages. The sound of crashing glass had quickened her steps and she stared at the sight before her. _

_In a crumpled mess on the floor was Erik, surrounded by shards of mirrors. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty. His mask was left off to the side as tears diluted the blood on his cheeks. He looked around himself hopelessly: hundreds of piercing, pleading eyes stared back at him. He covered his face with bleeding hands, crying out without forming words, only anguish. _

_Transfixed, Mme Giry stared, unsure of how to approach him. With a shaking hand, he seized a piece of glass as his gaze shifted from the shard in one hand to his open palm. She never knew if he would ever complete the act but rushing forward, she knocked the piece from his hand and knelt down next to him, holding his head between her hands andforcing him to look up. _

"_Erik, look at me. Look at me!" He slowly brought his gaze to meet her own and she gasped. Such despair, such remorse, it was too much for one man to hold. With all the care his mother ought to have showed, she pulled his head to her shoulder and rocked him gently as he sobbed anew. Some time later, after both had exhausted their supply of tears, she led him by the hand away from his home. _

The first two days were the most trying and he disappeared periodically. After a day's absence, he returned, half alive, and she took care of him best she could until he was restored to some degree of health, enough to enforce his demand that she stop babying him. He found a corpse, dressed it accordingly and announced through the newspaper that the Phantom of the Opera was no more.

Then, he'd retracted into an even deeper shell. Once he had disliked the world, now he shunned and avoided it. In this time he never touched his music and he rarely spoke, usually no more than a murmur of thanks unless he felt the need for a fiduciary and would utter an entire paragraph. He lost weight sporadically, not eating for days, but the wasting away of his spirit was more startling still.

After another month, he returned to his organ and the dark melodies echoed in those moments when the opera house fell silent. His moods fluctuated sharply; one day she came to visit and he was again a helpless child and another he raged for his disturbed solitude. Several times, Mme Giry had brought her supplies to find his home empty. The Phantom of the Opera was no more, but ghosts exist in many forms.

Her shoes clicked on the stone and she placed a loaf of bread and fresh fruit next to what she'd brought two days ago, worried to see it was untouched. She looked around briefly, only to discover that he was indeed gone. Sighing, she sent a silent prayer that he was safe, wherever he was.

∞†∞

Erik stared at Philippe with pragmatic skepticism and spoke with a jeer, "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, yes. Don't worry about a thing."

"You're asking me to slice open my skin and you're telling me not to worry?"

"I suppose it does sound bad when you put it like that. Just trust me."

Forcing thoughts like _this is ludicrous_ to the back of his mind, he looked at the dagger Philippe had produced. The burnished blade was decorated with ornate gothic designs near the hilt, black against the brilliant steel. The frosted handle was carved with a flowing script that ended in two small rubies on either side. Erik sighed, "I have nothing to lose."

"No time like the present. It has to be a full moon for this to work."

Erik took in a breath and exposed his wrist to the cold winter night. Gritting his teeth he drew the blade across his wrist. He let a few drops fall to the snow before he instinctively brought the gash to his mouth. Philippe spoke unintelligible words above him, an enchantment of sorts, and moon seemed to intensify its glow. Erik felt Philippe's hands on his shoulders and a strange surge of energy jolt from his head to his feet before he slowly lost his grip on consciousness and fell to the snow.

∞†∞

* * *

**_Authoress Rambling_:** I've been bogged down this week already (not all with school though, just busy) but let's hear it for the pick-me-up that is fanfiction! 

Thank You so VERY much to reviewers!

**MagickAlianne:** -:sly grin:- maybe...maybe not... I have to say I really like Philippe. He's been a lot of fun to write. Thank you so much for being a faithful reviewer all around. Thank you!

**tomluver123:** I'm glad you liked it. That was one of my favorite lines, too. Thank you!

**Neori: **blushes aww...you're too sweet. :) This will DEFINITELY be E/C but it may take me a few chapters to get there. As for your other question, to be honest, I'm not exactly sure; I haven't decided. _Really_ hope I don't fail you, with that kind of glowing review! Thank You!

**TerpintineMind:** Philippe's kinda strange but I think he's fun. And I promise I'll get to the E/C interaction hopefully in a chapter or two(Erik has to get used to his change first). I have their first re-meeting planned out...it's a little...unorthodox to say the least. -:smirk:- Thank you!

**Secret:** No ideas? Ah well, no worries :). The Angel of Writing paid me a visit the other day... Yeah, Erik might have been a little too open to the idea but a) vampires _are_ very seductive creatures and b) it wasn't like he was doing anything better. Or at least those are my excuses. Maybe I'll try to clean it up a bit later...hmmm... Anyway, Thank You!

**What's to come:** Erik's first "taste" and we have to get Christine here somehow. :) **_Love it or hate it, please let me know what you think!_** it's that little button right down there...two seconds to make me eternally happy for now :)


	4. Changes

Don't own the characters, just pulling the magical puppet strings orginally put in place by Gaston Leroux and some to ALW.

I wrote more so I'll post more. :)

Hugs to reviewers! You guys rock my socks!

**_roguekitsune/Neori:_** Yay! I've been heart-ed! (and no worries about the screenname thing) Jeeze, I'm so happy others are as excited about my story as I am. Was this soon enough to save any shreads of sanity? -:smirk:- Sorry for the cliffie but I will make no promises to stop them (especially since I have a doozy in mind a chapter or two down the road -:grins maliciously:-) Thank You!

**_AkashaVampireQueen: _**Interesting name, BTW. I've actually never seen all of "Interview with a Vampire." Would you recomend it? And I'm glad you like my story.:) Thank You!

**_tomluver123:_** Will make the effort to have longer chapters in the future but we'll see how it goes. I generally just try to pick where I think the most logical breaking point would be (and that's usually when I switch POV). Thank you!

**_And now, on to part the next. (Starting at the De Changy Estate)_**

* * *

Christine slept late into the morning and rapidly readied herself for another day. Plodding cheerfully down the marble steps of the De Chagny estate, she made her way to the main dining room and, as she done for several days now, sat down to breakfast alone. She'd seen very little of Raoul lately, he chose to spend his days in solitude. 

Christine sighed; she knew very little of Philippe, business had kept him away from the manor frequently but what time she had spent with him left a lasting impression. She knew him to be a kind man with a strange sense of humor but the night after she'd found the announcement of Erik's death (Raoul had been out of town) he comforted his future sister in law while she bared her soul and cried her heart out.

She thought fondly of Philippe and was no stranger to mourning, but she was still concerned for Raoul's well-being. Delicately wiping her lips with her napkin, she started to clear her place before a servant gently tapped her shoulder. Blushing furiously, Christine apologized, still unaccustomed to servants after these months, and made her way to Raoul's study.

Sure enough, he sat behind the desk with dark shadows under his eyes, contrasting sharply with his pallid face. His strawberry-blond hair fell haphazardly as he reached to a nearby decanter to fill his glass again.

"Raoul?" she started tentatively. He jumped, sloshing brandy over his hand.

He responded in a gravelly voice, "Christine?"

"It's a lovely day, Raoul. Perhaps we could go for a walk about the grounds…"

"In the snow?"

"Yes, let's leave the house for a little while."

"I'm sorry, Christine. I'm just not in the mood."

"Are you sure, Raoul? You've scarcely left the room in three days."

"I know. Just go on ahead."

She bit her lip, caught in indecision, before softly closing the door behind her. Tears rose to her eyes when she thought of what her old playmate had been reduced to.

How could she save him when she couldn't save herself?

∞†∞

Erik woke to the familiar feel of his own sheets. _It was only a dream._ Opening his eyes and blinking heavily, he sat up and cradled his head in his hands, a migraine pounding in his skull. Trying to ease the throbbing best he could, he shakily made his way to what medicinal supplies he still carried.

"Just give it some time, it'll pass soon enough."

Erik froze. Philippe was there sprawled out on the chaise, not even bothering to lift his gaze from the book.

"It was real?"

"Very much so. I hope you don't mind that I brought you home. I was afraid you wouldn't regain consciousness before burning to a crisp once the sun rose. It would certainly not be an auspicious start."

Erik's mind was struggling to form any coherency from what he was hearing.

"Your body's still getting used to the change. Just give it some time."

Erik sat down on the chair next to the fireplace, willing his brain to focus. He massaged his temples to soothe the strain. Agonizingly slow, the headache managed to dissipate and Erik breathed a sigh of relief.

"Wait for it…"

"For what?" Erik had barely spoken the question when a fierce, sharp pain erupted in his mouth. With a cry, he ripped the mask from his face and he held his hands to his jaw, vainly attempting to vent the sudden surge. He shot a disbelieving, worried glance at Philippe before re-averting his gaze to the carpet. The pain was steadily growing. Erik crumpled to the ground, one hand across his mouth and the other balled into a fist on the floor. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and each breath came ragged and harsh. Erik curled up on his side as the ache continued to intensify. He could _feel_ his teeth rearranging.

Finally, the pain dwindled down as Erik panted slightly from the excursion, seeking to regain control of his breathing.

"I never claimed it would be painless, now did I?"

"No, you didn't," Erik growled. "Is there more?"

"No, that's the worst of it. I cried when mine came in. Go take a look, while you still can."

Erik's brows knotted in a puzzled look after Philippe's last statement as he replaced his mask. Curiosity soon got the better of him and he walked to the only whole mirror of his home, the one in Christine's room. Stealing away memories, he lifted the cover and examined his teeth; they were flawless but for the extra-long canines and the small spaces to accommodate them in his lower jaw.

Then Erik got a better look in the mirror as his eyes widened. "Philippe! My reflection, it's fading!" Sure enough, the once clear image had lightened, leaving only a specter of a reflection. Erik could still make out his form, his clothes had not disappeared, and the vague outline of his raven hair, mask, and eyes. Philippe joined him in the room.

"It won't completely disappear until you've had your first meal."

"My first…meal," Erik parroted hesitantly.

"Surely the Phantom of the Opera is not queasy?"

In response, Erik shot him a dirty look.

"Alright, alright. I get it. You're not used to my sense of humor or dare I say social interaction at all? Relax, loosen up a bit."

"I've never had to 'get used' to someone before, save Christine. And for her, I would do anything."

For once, Philippe stilled his tongue, understanding the subject not one to be joked about. Instead, he turned around and walked out of the room to where Madame Giry had placed provisions prior to their return.

"Want something to eat?"

"I thought you said you feed on blood."

"Well, yes, but it still tastes good. It's just nowhere near as satisfying nor as sweet."

Erik shrugged lightly, before joining Philippe.

"Any other little surprises I might want to be aware of?"

"No, nothing comes to mind at the moment. Croissant?" Erik took the offered croissant and ate cautiously, allowing himself to get used to the new configuration of his teeth.

With his mouth partly full, Erik asked, "So, won't someone know you're a vampire just by looking at your teeth?"

Philippe chuckled: "People have this habit of seeing what they want to see. Exploit it. It's your best weapon."

The corners of Erik's mouth quirked, he'd learned that particular lesson some time ago. "I still don't know anything about you."

"Yes, I'd like to keep it that way for the time being. A pupil shouldn't have means to blackmail his teacher, n'est-ce pas?" Philippe grinned but it faded quickly.

Though curious, Erik didn't press him any further. "So what are you going to teach?"

"The basics. I daresay you'll figure out most of the rest soon enough."

"What's first?" Erik's hunger for knowledge outweighed his annoyance of the man.

Philippe taunted, "Ah ah ah, you have to take your first taste, before you can do much anything. Have anyone in particular to seek revenge on?"

Erik's mind immediately flew to Raoul but he soon felt ashamed for the thought. The Fop was taking care of Christine and he would do nothing to cause her pain. Sighing heavily, Erik declined to choose a target.

"Alright, if you're sure. I'm certain there are plenty of construction workers who spend the night at the opera house, yes?"

Erik grinned evilly, "Yes there are. They never allow me any peace and are truly doing a shotty job, marring my opera."

"Sounds like a good choice then, convenient _and_ vengeful."

They shook hands to seal the decision.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress's side comments:** Well, I think that's how chapters are going to work for a little while: a piece from one perspective and then one from Erik...unless of course that doesn't work and chapters will be wherever I stop them... Meh, I'm consistent in changing. 

AND: I promise we will get some E/C interaction soon. (Interlude at De Chagny manor this time will lead into Christine's reason for going to town). I'll try to get there as soon as I can ('cause I really want to get there too!)

FURTHERMORE: **_Please, love it or hate it, Let Me Know What You Think!_** (Just that little square down there, give it a click)


	5. First Taste

_Today's my Birthday! (Yay!) I'm turning 18 today so I thought I'd pass along some of my happy. Hope you enjoy the next chapter!_

_And THANK YOU to everyone who's reviewed so far! And special thanks to Neori and Shadow Fox Forever for reviewing on the last chapter. And thanks to whoever's reading anyway. _

_Much love all. _

_-bobmcbobbob1 (4/25/05)_

* * *

Christine took off her bonnet after the third walk that day; these walls were too confining. Each instance she asked Raoul to join her and each time she was rejected. Handing her coat to a servant, she walked by the grand piano in the parlor, absently stroking the polished wood. She sighed, knowing Erik's touch was the only one that could make the instrument truly sing. It was depressing to see such a fine piece go to waste; she found herself too distraught to play what simple melodies he had taught her and Raoul's meager skill was silenced by his grief.

A loud crash erupted from Raoul's study and she instantly dashed to the door, pulling her skirts up lest she trip on the hem. She pounded on the door. "Raoul! Is everything alright in there?"

He made no spoken response but she could hear his heavy footsteps inch toward the door. Moments later, he opened the door partway to look at her. "No, everything is not okay, Christine." Pushing the door aside, she hugged him while he cried into her shoulder. Christine sagged under his weight and eased him into a chair.

"What's wrong, Raoul?"

He sighed and let his head meet the back of the chair. "I can't get Philippe's tombstone for another week."

Lost for words, Christine squeezed Raoul's hand. "It's alright, Raoul. We'll put this mess behind us."

He smiled appreciatively at his fiancée. "Thank you, Christine, for helping me through this. I love you." Raoul leaned forward and kissed her cheek sweetly.

Taking advantage of Raoul's brief light mood, Christine struck out, "Will you join me for dinner tonight? It's been rather lonely lately."

"Alright, Christine. If it will please you."

She smiled compassionately and rose to leave, all the more determined to see Raoul through his grief, one way or another, as a good friend or rather, she reminded herself, fiancée should.

∞†∞

"The moon rises. Are you ready to stir up a little trouble, taste the world for the first time?" Philippe grinned boyishly at Erik, clearly excited.

Though slightly annoyed by Philippe's enthusiasm, Erik had to admit to himself that the thrill of the hunt beckoned. "Let's go."

"You're well experienced with blending into the shadows, yes? Well, this is a nice little trick you'll master soon enough." With that, Philippe took a few steps back and dissolved into the dark shadow, away from the candle light. "Care to try it?" Erik jumped as Philippe was suddenly behind him.

Without speaking, Erik backed into the shadow to try for himself and soon found himself easily flowing at a smooth, rapid pace through the all the cracks of his home where light did not show.

"Not bad for your first time. After a while, you'll be able to turn shade regardless of how the room is lit. We'll work on that. Now, follow me." Again dissipating into the blackness, Erik followed his shape through a distinction he didn't truly understand just that he knew where Philippe was.

After Philippe hesitated and led them down several wrong passageways, Erik could no longer restrain his amusement and resumed his normal form and gait. Philippe glowered back as Erik offered, "Maybe I should lead?"

"I suppose you _do_ know where you're going. Go on, lead away." Merging into the surrounding shadows, Erik confidently led Philippe to the stage.

Sure enough, several slumped figures laid sprawled out on the stage, some surrounded by empty bottles, the results of their wages. Erik growled with distaste to see his stage defiled in such a manner.

Philippe whispered next to him, "I'll let you pick first."

Glancing around quickly, Erik gestured to one man on the edge of the stage that used his arms for pillow and lie next to only one empty bottle of wine.

"Fair choice. I've got the tubby one over there. Watch how it's done."

Evaporating into shadow, Philippe slid down the fire-damaged curtains next to the man. At the same time, he snaked a hand across the man's mouth to muffle any screams and bit down harshly to the flesh of the man's neck. The man's eyes flew open and he struggled momentarily before the blood loss slowly drained his efforts. His body fell limp moments later and Philippe lowered the corpse to the ground, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve though his teeth still held crimson stains. Taking a scarf from his pocket, Philippe tied it over the wound before returning to Erik's side. Erik made a gesture about his neck and Philippe responded, "That way they'll think he died from too much alcohol."

Erik nodded lightly then took his place, determined to somehow outdo his companion. From his pocket, he drew out his trusty lasso and easily copied Philippe's example by sliding down the opposite side of the curtain. Stealthily moving toward his target, he was beside him in an instant as he mumbled something in his sleep, completely unaware of the danger to his life. With all his years of practice, Erik slipped the noose around his neck and drew the man up to standing while he fought against the catgut strands, staring with wide eyes at the masked face of his attacker as the pressure on his trachea rendered him speechless.

Erik met the man's terrified gaze momentarily and saw something in the man's eyes: _Christine_. What would she think of him were she to see this?

"What are you doing? Hurry up," Philippe urged.

Forcing the vision from his mind, he leaned forward before he could have any more second thoughts. This was his life now. To kill in order to survive, much as it had been before. The man was too stunned to book any protest as Erik sank his newly shaped teeth into the base of his neck.

Erik's eyes flew wide with shock. It was more than mere liquid; it was life, sweet and bitter all at once. All this man's emotions, all this man's little white lies, all the shameless acts, all the generous acts, all the lives he touched, flooded into Erik's conscious. When he finally drew back, Erik nearly dropped the body in surprise; the questioning look was forever set in this man's face.

Philippe appeared next to him and drew a knife across Erik's bite. "It looks like a random cut now. We still have to be discreet, no? Especially so close to your home."

Erik nodded numbly and walked away, unable to rid the image from his mind. Once they made their way back to Erik's home, Erik walked to Christine's room and looked in the mirror. _Maybe there's a reason I can't see my reflection. I thought I was hideous once, but who's to say what kind of monster I could become with this power._

Philippe came up behind him or rather Erik saw the reflection of his clothes come forward seemingly on their own. "So how do you feel?"

"I'm not sure. I feel alive…but―"

"A little guilty? Well, like I said, you get used to it."

Erik looked at himself. The weight he'd lost during the last few months was back in the form of new muscle. Old cuts and scars had faded, save for his face. "Will my face change too?"

"No, I'm afraid that's probably not going to change. You're unique, Erik."

Erik sighed, "What do we do now?"

"Get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Not needing to be told twice, Erik made his way to his room and closed his eyes only to find dreams of all those he had murdered in the past with a new face added to the masses.

∞†∞

* * *

_Also, Erik and Christine WILL meet in either the next chapter or the one after; I've decided. So E/C shippers hang in there!_

_Well, you know what could really make my day...just that little square down there and two seconds of your time. **Love it or hate it, please let me know! **(and if you see things that need to be fixed or you found some incongruencies or you have an idea or...)_


	6. An Unorthodox Reunion

**Hey all! (thanks for all the birthday wishes, BTW) Who's up for another chappie?**

**Hugs to reviewers!**

_**carkeys: **glad you like it. Thank you!_

_**Midnight Tango: **hee hee, it's an interesting mix. I hope you like the next chunk. Thank you!_

_**Shadow Fox Forever: **Glad you're still hanging in there. Thank you!_

_**twinlady: -:**song:- thank you, thank you, thank you very much,and I- I'm glad that you liiiiiikkeee it. (Yeah, if you by some miracle pick the same tune it'll be really cool but otherwise it's rather stupid)_

_**potostfbeyeluvr: **Yay! (attempts to reel in further) Hope you enjoy the next chapter. Thank you!_

_**Neori: **hope this was soon enough. Thank you!_

_**MagickAlianne (or La Femme Fadora if you prefer): **Yay for Mark in your story (chuckles, that still rocks) and updated. Thank you!_

_**nightbug08:** I don't really know...it's just an expression...stop ruining my illusions:) Thank you!_

**Well you guys all rock my socks. **

**Alright, in this chapter Erik and Christine are actually going to meet! (sort of)**

**Now, diving in...**

* * *

Christine awoke to much the same routine the next morning and the one after that. Again she asked Raoul to join her for a fainéant afternoon walk to escape the walls and he declined, favoring seclusion. But a few days later after she'd returned from a short horseback ride to the sound of crashing furniture. Closing her eyes, she rallied her courage and ran to Raoul's study. 

"Raoul! Calm down!" Christine yelled through the thick wooden door. "Tell me what's wrong."

The door opened jerkily and Christine gasped at his bloodshot eyes and haggard appearance. She could smell alcohol on his breath but didn't hesitate to embrace him and run her fingers through unwashed hair in an effort to soothe him. Her efforts were rewarded as he relaxed and drew back into his study, gesturing for her to follow. Christine obeyed and settled next to him on the chaise. Raoul held his head in his hands and for a moment neither moved.

Finally, Raoul spoke in a low voice: "Apparently their master stonemason died a few days ago. The imbecile was killed at the Opera Populaire." Raoul chuckled mirthlessly. "Even without the ghost there's still danger in every board of that building. They said it would take another week or two and I'll have to pick it up personally. All I wanted was to honor my brother's name, to give him a last bit of dignity. But I can't even seem to do that right."

"Raoul, this isn't your fault."

"Christine, I should have been there for him. He was my brother."

Christine brought Raoul's head to her shoulder as he cried out his guilt while she murmured reassurances in his ears.

After Raoul had calmed again, Christine spoke up, "I will go to town to fetch Philippe's gravestone, Raoul, if you will stay here and get some proper rest and something to eat."

Raoul looked at her briefly then closed his eyes and nodded. He knew he was being selfish, sending Christine on such an errand, yet he had no desire to leave these walls and face the world again. He took Christine's hand and kissed it lightly. She rose to leave. She would have to pack; Paris awaited her and it was a long journey.

∞†∞

Philippe had a point; given time a man could get used to anything.

Against his will, Erik was forming a friendship with his strange companion. Their shared experiences and the skills Philippe was teaching him had slowly taught Erik to tolerate Philippe's unique personality. Each day, Erik grew bolder in his new abilities and soon the duo terrorized half of Paris.

After around a week, Philippe began to teach Erik how to transform into the traditional bat. It was a difficult process to say the least. Once Erik formed only the wings and Philippe doubled into fits of laughter while Erik gave an ear-piercing screech like a true bat. Another instance, Erik had just transformed back to human form…excluding the ears. It had taken him another twenty minutes to return them to normal, Philippe too caught in his mirth to be of any assistance.

"So how long can I stay as a bat?"

"Well, that depends. I can only keep the form for about five hours, some can for longer."

"What happens when you run out of time?"

"You simply return to human form exactly where you are, be it twenty feet above the ground or from the ceiling of an unsuspecting woman. Come let's work on your sonar. For a man who can pick up any song by ear, you have a horrible time using it to get around."

Erik admitted to himself this much was true; he'd hit the walls more times than he could count but he wasn't about to give Philippe the satisfaction.

The time quickly passed and Erik grinned at Philippe, "Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Shall we?"

In response, Philippe elegantly shifted into his animal form. "Where should we go tonight?"

∞†∞

Christine struggled with her packages. Since she was in town, she'd taken full advantage of the proximity of her favorite shops, acquiring much needed items for their home. It had been a fast week. She'd met with the Meg and Madame Giry and was grateful to see both were well and eagerly awaiting for the opera to flourish again. Meg asked Christine what day they had set to which Christine experienced one of the most awkward replies of her life. Mme Giry was kind enough to step in and save her further embarrassment.

Now here she was, having just spoken with the tombstone carver for much longer than expected and walking the dark streets of Paris. She sneezed lightly, a result of a fearful cold she'd caught during her travels. Taking a moment to tuck her errant lock back, she loaded up her arms again and walked down the alleys, a shortcut.

"Don't move."

Christine froze as cold steel was pushed against her throat. The man withheld the pressure but moved around to face her. With a confidence she didn't know she possessed, she glared into her assailant's eyes…and delivered a mighty kick to his shins. Shocked, the mugger dropped his weapon and Christine bolted, leaving her belongings behind. She could hear the man's footsteps echo behind her as he chased after her.

∞†∞

Erik flapped his wings gently, enjoying the rush of wind as it flowed through his fur.

Soaring next to him, Philippe yelled, "I see mine. I'll meet you back at the lair."

Erik bid his companion farewell and sought his own victim. Instead, he saw something else that caught his attention: a woman pursued by a man bearing a blade. He grinned to himself and dropped lower.

As Erik drew closer and closer to the man (he too absorbed in his own prey to notice his hunter) he slowly morphed out of his bat form and, instead of clawed feet, Erik reached down with his strong hands and pulled the man up by his shoulders. Erik glided through the air, still gripping the man's struggling form feet above the earth. He hissed as the man's knife tore his hand. Erik threw the man aside as it fell to a crumple heap; then he turned the body to face him only to see that the man had been stabbed by his own knife. _I'll come back later if I'm still hungry_.

Melting into shadow, Erik followed the woman. He caught up with her quickly.

∞†∞

Christine gasped as a pair of strong hands grabbed her from behind. Struggling violently out of the grip, she continued to run as fast as her weary legs would carry her. Moments later, large hands again seized her shoulders but this time, she was lifted into the air. She tried to scream but soon one of those hands clamped over her mouth. Her chest heaved as Christine fought the effects of her sprint and her fear, air more difficult to pull through the strange filter blocking her oxygen.

The same barrier muffled another scream as she felt the skin of her neck broken, pierced by unseen means.

∞†∞

* * *

**Well, TECHNICALLY they did meet again, now didn't they? Guys? (small voice/whimper) guys? Oh, I'm in so much trouble aren't I? (precise, fluid arm movements and an incantation under breath. HA, force field!)**

**_Love it or hate it, please, let me know! Then I'll update (malevolent smile)._**


	7. Victims of Innocent Bystanders

_Ah, the usual: Still don't own the characters. Plot isMINE -:growl:-_

_Hey all! It seemed only appropriate to update this fic on Friday the 13th. Hope you don't mind_ :).

_Side Note: my phanfic "Playing Hooky" was nominated for POTO Reader's choice awards in Alternate Reality!_

A thousand hugs to reviewers!

**Victorian Dream: **Yeah, Erik figures it out, no worries. Side note: Philippe says in the second chapter the only two ways to become a vampire in my world. Sorry about your parakeet, hope things get better (hands chocolate, hug) Thank you!

**Shadow Fox Forever:** sorry about the uber-long update waits; school's trying to see how much it can cram in before the end here (and I'm graduating in about 15 days). Thank you!

**twinlady:** wonder no longer, the answer is here! (by classic you didn't mean cliché, did you? 'cause I didn't see it coming when it stringed from my fingers and I really don't want to be predictable or repeating...) Anyway...Thank you!

**The Goddess of Death: **Delicious...love the adjective. Thank you!

**MagickAlianne:** My force field did too work :P Thank you!

**Neori:** (brightly) really! Aw, shucks...:) (btw, I don't think I'd mind being hunted down my Gerard Butler -:smirk:- so maybe I'll just wait on this update...j/k). THANK YOU!

**All That Remains:** ooo, neato screen name. Makes me think of a painting called "That which I should have done, I did not do." Can't remember the artist's name for the life of me (first name was Ivan...oh! Ivan Albright I think...) but it's a really creepy but really cool painting... Anyway, that was random. I'm glad you like it! Thank you!

**AkashaVampireQueen:** Glad to hear you're interested! I saw the movie with a few friends last weekend and I really liked it (though I don't think Tom Cruise pulled off the blondish, wavy long hair very well...). Cool flick. Yeah, I can see why you'd say Lestat and Philippe are sorta alike...weird... Thank You!

_And thanks again. Okay, in this chapter, we're going to learn a little more about Philippe (and for those of you who didn't draw the connection...yeah...it's spelled out for you later). Hope you enjoy it and faithful reviewers, I hope I don't fail you. _

_Much love all._

_**

* * *

Last time: **_

_She tried to scream but soon one of those hands clamped over her mouth. Her chest heaved as Christine fought the effects of her sprint and her fear, air more difficult to pull through the strange filter blocking her oxygen. _

_The same barrier muffled another scream as she felt the skin of her neck broken, pierced by unseen means._

∞†∞

**_And Now…_**

A flash of visions flooded Erik's mind as he took in his latest victim but he saw something he never had before: himself. It was almost an out-of-body experience; he recalled much of what she did but it was a new perspective.

Like a bolt of lightning, he realized who he had in his arms. He pulled away sharply as Christine's form crumpled to the ground.

Erik panicked for one of the few times in his life. He whipped off his scarf and held it over the puncture, fully disgusted with himself. He felt for her pulse with one hand: weak but still there. Her breathing was shallow and her skin was paler than usual. Mentally berating himself for his stupidity he prayed silently that she would wake.

Suddenly, she breathed in sharply and opened her eyes. Erik took away the scarf gently; the bleeding had stopped.

Confused, he altered his tone to mask his voice as best he could as he pulled her to her feet. "That was quite a scare, mademoiselle." Erik was shocked to realize that he had scarce recognized his own voice. "Are you alright?"

"A little dizzy. I'll be fine in a moment. What happened to the mugger?"

"Fell on his own knife," Erik replied honestly.

"Thank you so much for your assistance, monsieur. I seem to have an angel looking after me tonight."

Erik grimaced slightly though it was concealed by the cloak of night. _She had to say angel_. He did his best to feign ignorance as he inquired, "Do you live in town? Or shall I see you to your hotel?"

Christine took a quick look of her surroundings, "No, that won't be necessary. I'm staying just around the corner."

"If that is what you wish."

"I cannot thank you enough for your assistance, monsieur. Perhaps you would care to have lunch with me tomorrow, as a small token of my gratitude?"

"I'm afraid that would be quite impossible." _Quite impossible indeed._

"I'm sorry to hear that." Christine rearranged her dress unconsciously before continuing, "Perhaps another time. I must bid you goodnight, monsieur." She offered her hand which the man kissed genteelly. She turned to go.

"Goodnight, Christine."

She froze. Not only had she not disclosed her name to her helper but it was that voice; _that_ voice was a page from her past.

She turned around sharply but he was gone. Shivers ran down her spine. Surely her mind was blowing everything out of proportion after a frightening experience.

Christine walked back to the inn and numbly to her room. Her purchases, she realized, were still in a dark alley. She caught her gaze in the vanity, looking as though she'd seen a ghost. Her hair was a mass of frightful disarray and partially dried blood left streaks down her left shoulder. She raised her right hand to the wound on her neck. Christine felt two holes near the base and her eyes widened. "What could have done that?" she wondered aloud.

She caught sight of her hand in the mirror. On the same hand she had offered to the stranger, her supposed savior, she could see the mark of his lips left in fresh blood.

∞†∞

Madame Giry mumbled to herself as she marched once again down the stone steps into Erik's world. She wished she could do more than bring him food from time to time. It had been well over a week since she had last brought provisions and she prayed silently that something had not happened to him in her absence. Mme Giry never intended to neglect him for so long, but Meg's impending engagement to a Baron had claimed much of her attention. True, he was a gentleman in every regard and seemed besotted with her lovely daughter but she still felt bittersweet pangs as her daughter grew up before her eyes. Then Christine had visited and poor Erik was forgotten in the midst of catching up.

An apple slipped from Mme Giry's bag as she swore under her breath, chasing after it. She stooped down to pick it up and rose to the sight of a man in front of her. Before she could ask any questions, his arm shot to her throat and lifted her off the floor.

∞†∞

Mind near bursting, Erik stole into the shadows and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Philippe! Philippe, I―" Erik took in the scene before him and his distress dissolved into a different urgency. Philippe's hand was wrapped around Madame Giry's throat, parcels of food lay aside forgotten, and she struggled as best her small frame could manage, scratching frantically at his iron grip. Philippe leaned in ominously and in an instant Erik was beside them.

With calm, controlled fury, Erik leaned toward Philippe and spoke in a menacing growl: "Let her go. Not her."

"Why? What's this spy to you?"

"She's my friend. Put her down, Philippe."

Philippe sneered lightly and Mme Giry's eyes bulged as she took in his elongated teeth. After a moment of defiance, Philippe slowly lowered her to the ground and unclenched his fingers. She breathed in sharply and scrambled as far from her assailant as possible. "Fine, Erik. I'm not hungry anyway," Philippe said flippantly as he walked away.

Mme Giry's knees gave out from under her and she fell to the floor. Erik rushed to her side. "Are you all right?"

"Erik…"she murmured in a shaky voice, "what have you gotten yourself into?"

He assisted her to her feet, "We'll talk later." He took notice of the contents of the spilled bag, "Thank you, Danielle."

She nodded lightly as she numbly scampered out of the room, fast as propriety would allow.

"Are you sure that's wise? She could tell anyone," Philippe drawled.

"We can trust her."

"She's led people down here before, has she not?"

Erik froze; Philippe was right. "We can trust her," he repeated.

"On a different note, how was your outing? You seemed in a right state when you came back…"

Erik closed his eyes, how could he forget? "I saw a man. He was chasing a woman. He had a knife drawn." Erik's breath quickened, his stress returning. "I went after the cutthroat first but he fell on his own blade then I went after her. I didn't see her face. I didn't know who she was…until I tasted her. I tasted Christine. I bit Christine!" He covered his face with his hands.

"My, my. A very interesting outing indeed," Philippe stated carelessly.

Erik whipped his head up. "How can you say that? I could have killed her."

"But apparently you didn't."

"That's not the point. It was Christine. I would die before causing her pain and there I was at her neck."

Philippe shrugged. "It was an accident."

"But she knew it was me."

"I don't see why you're so upset. She lived and she thinks you're dead."

"But I bit her and I saw her life, her soul. Every embrace, every tear..."

"That's what it is to be a vampire, Erik." Philippe's voice took on a sudden edge. "To know the value of life, to feel more alive than what is humanly possible, to know passion, that's what it's about. Passion!"

Philippe's yells echoed off the cavernous walls.

Philippe took in a few deep breaths until Erik broke the silence and spoke in quiet voice, "What was her name?"

"Excuse me?"

Erik kept his gaze steady. "What was her name, Philippe? I can hear it in your voice."

"Don't assume to know my life's story," jagged ice coated his tone.

"What was her name?" Erik repeated calmly.

Philippe sighed and closed his eyes. "Adele. Her name was Adele." He laughed lightly. "We have a common problem, Erik. Raoul has inadvertently ruined us both."

Erik took a good, thoughtful look at Philippe before it occurred to him: "Your brother, yes?"

"Yes. Raoul de Chagny is my younger brother."

Erik sat back in the chair allowing the news to settle as Philippe stood before the fire. "How did it happen?"

Philippe cringed though he knew the question would come. "I'd rather not go into it. Let's just say my brother's loose tongue caused a few _complications_. Her father found out and took her away." Philippe swallowed and stopped for a moment. "We shared secret letters for some time until Raoul spoke of them with a friend at his boarding school…who turned out to be her fiancé. It was just something he said in passing but Raoul's friend―" he winced slightly "―let's just say he was the jealous type. Adele never recovered. Needless to say, I've confided in Raoul little since. Then the Circle found me and I slowly learned how to live again. Only those of us who have known passion in life, who have known pain, can belong to the Circle. And the rest, well it's not important."

Erik was about to extended his sympathies but changed his mind; he'd never wanted useless pity, why would Philippe?

Philippe gestured impatiently as Erik opened his mouth, "There's no need to tell me your sob story, Erik. I've heard it first hand from Christine, the day you supposedly died." He hesitated momentarily and Erik glanced at him, curious as to Christine's slant to the chain of events. "I don't know how you let her go. I would never have had the strength. Adele was taken before I could do anything, whisked away in the middle of the night by her father. She never had a choice, neither of us did. To have been so close… I wouldn't have had the strength."

"I wanted her to be happy," he replied bitterly, lowering his head. "She can live in the sunshine with her precious fop." He glanced at Philippe, sapphire eyes glossed over with tears long forgotten. "I just wanted her to be happy," he murmured again.

"See you really shouldn't _assume_ something is going to make someone happy in a case like this; you'd be surprised. You didn't exactly give Christine a choice."

"And just what do you mean by that?" Erik asked in a dangerous tone.

"Think about it. I'm going to sleep." Philippe's own tone booked no room for argument as he turned sharply on his heel and left the room, too haunted by his fey reminisces to continue any conversation.

Erik leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "It certainly _has_ been an interesting night," he mused to the empty room. _Oh, God; Christine. _

∞†∞

* * *

_Okay, with any luck I'll be better about updating come summer here; we'll see how babysitting and if I can manage to find a good part time job screw up with my writing sessions. I can always shove my little brother off the computer whene'er I get home..._

**_Love it or hate it, LET ME KNOW! (small voice) please? Any comments welcome; will cry if I get flamed but am not stuck up enough to ignore that I have a heck of a lot of polishing before I could ever hit the bookstores._ :)**

**_Take care, all._**


	8. Ponderings and Mirror Tricks

_Time for a new chapter! Hey all, I'm slowly unburying myself from a mountian of stress so I thought I'd celebrate (and have a better excuse to blow off my PLC paper (Philosophy and Literary Criticism, I'm so sick of existentialism))._

Thank you's to awesome reviewers! (So far, according to you guys, what I need to work on the most is my updating speed; that's not too bad then, eh? I usually go over my stuff a few times before I post it; I could post earlier but that means more typos and incongruencies, etc. But I'll try to work on that...)

**TerpintineMind:** yeah, you're right. I guess I'm just good at understating things...it is a rhetorical device according to my AP Eng. teacher but I forgot what the real name of it was. Thank you!

**VictorianDream:** haven't talked to you in a while...yeah...I want to hit on that later that Raoul and Philippe were uber-close. Thank you!

**Dee:** What do you mean Erik killed Philippe? I'm confused... like metaphorically? or what...? Anyway...Thank you!

**phantomgoddess34:** is your skin still holding you together? hope you haven't burst yet... -:blushes:- aww...you're so sweet! Thank you!

**Allthatremains:** sorry! I'll try to hurry faster next time... Thank you!

**DragonheartRAB: **glad you like it. Thank you!

**Neori**(haaa, I just emailed you...) Dude, when you rule the world, can I have a piece of the action? -:smirk:- Thank you for continuing to put up with me!

**MooMoo-Sama: **yeah...I didn't think Madam Giry had a first name specifically so I just pulled one out my head and it stuck. Darn right, Erik's no wuss but my goal is to at least not make him _cruel_ per say. Yeah, Christine won't turn into a vampire from that incident (not saying about anything else yet...) but haaaa "one heck of a love bite" that made me chuckle... Thank you!

**lazy.kender**: Aww shucks... -:sheepish grin:- Updating! Thank you!

**twinlady:** thanks for the clarification,that parttook me by surpirse when I wrote it (it was one of those things where it was decidedly out of my hands, it wouldn't be written any other way) but I was really hoping that people weren't expecting that. Glad you like that line, too, one of my favs. umm...I was going to put something else but I forgot... anyway... Thank you!

**EmilyWillow: **weird? ummm okay. Hope you like it...Thank you!

**nightbug08:** Thank you!

**Shadow Fox Forever:** glad to hear it. Thank you!

**Lizzie Black:** Aww...Thank you!

_You guys all rock my socks. Since school's out here soon (I graduate on Saturday!), I'll either be really bad at updating or really good, depends how much my little brother steals the computer. I hope I won't fail you guys..._

_Enjoy, part the next: _

* * *

Christine moaned as a brilliant beam from the sun broke through the clouds and roused her from a peaceful rest. She threw her hand over her eyes to block the rays and pulled the covers over her head. Before she could fall back to sleep, a gentle knocking at the door claimed her attention. 

"Who is it?"

"Mademoiselle? Can I get you anything?"

Groggily, she glanced at the clock near her bed; it was nearly ten. "I'll take breakfast in half an hour."

The maid seemed surprised but acknowledged her request, aware that the rest of the tenants had been up for some time. Christine closed her eyes, willing the sun to hide once more. She wondered briefly why she'd slept so late…then the excitement of the night before crashed down on her conscience. Her eyes snapped open and she reached for the wound at her neck, the two marks still there.

She peered at her hand again, remembering the imprint left by the strange man; Christine had scrubbed the mark from her hand viciously but she could still see it in her mind. It unnerved her.

Sighing, she pulled the white blanket from her head and stumbled over to her vanity to better inspect her scars, the two circles glaring red against her pale skin. Attending to herself as quickly as possible, she combed through her chestnut curls and called a maid to help her dress. Christine completed her ensemble with a scarf, fashionably tied.

She ate her late breakfast in silence. After meticulously replaying the evening in her head, she was first off relatively sure where to collect her belongings (assuming another lucky Parisian hadn't come upon them first which was undeniably likely):

_A knife to her throat…the man turned to face her…kicked him and ran…heard brief cries behind her…kept running…a set of hands seized her arms…hands found her shoulders again and another hand across her mouth…then a sharp pain. _

Absently running her hand across the scars, she again wondered what could have made such a curious mark. The mark of the stranger's lips was no less perplexing. He could have easily transferred the unusual ink by wiping his mouth on a sleeve that had accidentally been splattered while he attended to her…or perhaps she was overreacting in the first place and the blood had been on _her_ hand initially and she'd drawn improper conclusions…_or perhaps…_

Christine shook her head vigorously. That was _certainly_ not likely. Nonetheless, she brought her thumb and forefinger to the mark and measured it, bringing it to her mouth; the spacing was close, it was possible. She shuddered. _Who would do such a thing_?

Her mind then wandered to another perplexing aspect of that night: Christine would have sworn on all that is holy that it was Erik's voice, not at first but the last two words… But it couldn't have been, she'd read the article, she could contrive no reason for him to fake his death, and furthermore she'd seen the body. The corpse was dressed in scorched yet impeccable regal taste she'd known of Erik and the obvious white mask was found close by but what finally convinced her was the ring she'd given him around his charred neck, most of the body horribly burnt in the flames of the opera house.

She had allowed herself to believe once that it was possible the body buried in his tiny plot belonged to another; her doubts resurfaced. Christine was trying to force the thoughts from her head—certain that this hope would lead to deeper despair as it had done the past few months—when after another short knock another maid came in for the used dishes.

"Miss Christine, did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you, Ella," Christine responded with a smile. Ella was a sweet woman, outgoing and talkative with an overall caring nature.

"Ah, very good indeed. And how are you feeling today? I was just telling Marie if _her_ cold didn't start to get better after three days she should hop right on over and see Dr. Maurice. He's a right clever gent, to be sure, and I make the same advice to you."

Christine noticed for the first time that she hadn't had any symptoms yet that morning from the wretched head cold she'd caught on her journey. "I think it's gone, Ella."

"Such a terrible cold gone so quickly? Goodness me, how lucky you are. I wouldn't complain about that too much."

"No, I suppose not," she murmured.

Ella finished gathering the dishes. "Now if you go outside, you be careful. There are some dangerous men out there. I could have one of the DeVore boys escort you if you'd like some extra protection. They're honest boys, been working for Jean-Luc for years and I'm sure they wouldn't mind at all."

Christine gave a half smile. _Dangerous men, yes, I'll have to be more careful_. "Thank you, Ella. I'm sure that won't be necessary, not in broad daylight."

"Well, should you change your mind, I'll send for them immediately."

"Thank you, Ella." Christine shook her head lightly as the old woman closed the door behind her.

Christine sat back in her chair, silently wondering if perhaps she should employ a guard. Eventually, she reminded herself that she felt no qualms wandering the streets of Paris in the daylight as she rose from the table, threw a cloak about her shoulders, and left her room to meet with the Giry's.

∞†∞

Erik sneezed violently and Philippe turned to look at him. "Caught a cold, have you? Curious."

"Why is it curious?"

"I've never been sick save once. I had the misfortune of biting a man who apparently had a nasty bout of the flu. It'll pass soon enough. Christine must have been sick."

Erik's breath caught in his throat but he shrugged it off, taking every appearance of unaffectedness as he sniffed. He instead followed Philippe's gaze to the fire in the grate.

"There's something I don't understand."

"I imagine there are several things you don't understand," Philippe quipped.

Erik growled lightly but continued, "When I drew back from Christine, she was still bleeding. I don't know why, but a moment later the blood stopped. The wound had already closed itself. Then when I tried to disguise my voice, I sounded like an entirely different person until I lost my focus."

Philippe didn't respond immediately as his brows knitted together and he leaned forward in his chair, fingers steepled together. "I'm not exactly sure if I can offer any explanation. There's a lot of magic involved in being a vampire; who's to say what way it turns?"

Philippe rose from his chair and absently walked around the room, stopping at the organ.

"Don't touch that," Erik warned in a menacing tone.

"Fine, fine. I have no talent for music anyway. I'm afraid I've always been rather hopeless."

"Everyone starts that way, perhaps you were just unwilling to try?"

"Perhaps. How did you learn?"

Erik smiled briefly, "practice and time, like most everyone else. Well, maybe not like _everyone_ else. I cannot claim to have had the best tutors such as yourself."

"You see what good they've done. Waste of money. Raoul enjoyed the lessons at least; he'd always had a soft spot for music."

"Speak no more of _him_."

"Perhaps that's why he fell for Christine. You apparently did such a marvelous job of sculpting her voice, how could he not?"

"Stop, Philippe," Erik commanded.

Philippe paid no attention and continued anyway, "Not that I've heard her sing out of the Opera Populaire. She's refused to grace the de Chagny estate with song. Raoul's asked her before but she won't. Hmmm I wonder if she sang at my funeral. That is if they found something to put in the plot. Ha, Raoul thinks robbers stole my body though what someone would do with a dead comte is beyond me; I hear it's put him in a right state…"

Erik was no longer listening; he could still hear the resonances of Christine's voice in his ears and there was no room for anything else. _Stop singing? Why would she stop? She lived for music_. His thoughts drifted absently, too caught in remembering the last words she'd sung to him to draw any real conclusions though his mind flittered to several possibilities: perhaps her new society disapproved, perhaps she had merely lost interest, perhaps she didn't want to use such a thing sculpted by a monster, perhaps she wanted to forget it all, forget him.

He sighed as he pushed past Philippe who was still talking adamantly. Sitting down in front of the organ, he launched into Bach's _Toccata and Fugue._ Philippe stopped his jabbering, Erik mentally noted, but he soon lost himself in the piece.

As the last few notes died away, Erik came to his conclusion. "I'm going to see her again while she's still in town, even if it's just for a short time."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Erik didn't respond, he didn't need to justify himself to Philippe.

"Fine, if you're set on it, let me show you something that may help."

Without waiting for a response, Philippe seized Erik's arm and pulled him to Christine's room to stand before the mirror.

"I already know I don't have a reflection anymore, Philippe."

"No, this is something else. Not every vampire can do this. It's rare to find those who do it well."

Erik sighed impatiently, "Do what, Philippe?"

"Here, let me show you. I'm not very good at it. I tend to get stuck more than anything else."

Philippe walked over to mirror and grasped the frame with one hand. Taking a deep breath, he released it and pressed against the gleaming surface of the mirror. He stepped into the frame as Erik stared. Philippe merged into the two-dimensional surface and soon he had disappeared. Erik moved to the side, almost expecting to see a strange bulge in the mirror but its width was consistent.

Philippe whistled, "Erik, over here."

Erik stopped looking at the back of the mirror and moved to the front. Philippe was standing in the mirror; to anyone else, it would have looked like a reflection though the source was absent. Erik nodded approvingly; this would be very useful indeed.

"Hold on, let me see if I can get out this time."

Philippe pressed against the invisible barrier, struggling to find a weak spot. He tried several times in different locations, forcing his body against the surface of the mirror. Erik pulled up a nearby chair and crossed his legs; it looked as if Philippe was going to be a while.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress ramblings: **hee hee...I love that mental image...Philippe struggling against the mirror while Erik sits calmly sipping tea or coffee or something... Anyway...Hope all's well on your side of the internet AND— 

**_Love it or hate it, please let me know what you think!_**


	9. A Few Explanations

I keep forgetting to put this: I still don't own the original characters and am only borrowing them.(but I'm working on my hypno ray...) Credit for characters to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber/ Charles Hart (who wrote most of the lyrics, actually); I just like manipulating them in my own little world. Making no profit, only writing for the sheer joy of it, etc.

_Hey all! I've been living off of fanfiction for the past couple days (sort of sad, yes) since I didn't have to take finals (I like this exempt thing). But I'm gradutating tomorrow (I'm so excited!) so I thought I'd share another chapter; that and I was tired of waiting for other people to update (always looking for new stories)._

_A hundred thank you's to reviewers!_

**Victorian Dream:** glad you like the image. it makes me chuckle... thank you!

**gavvie: **haaa accepted yodaness is yes.(that was a pretty good flick but I laughed so hard at Darth Vader's"NOOoooo!" just because it was so Hollywood (even though it was at a really sad part). Yeah, Leroux's Erik did sound pretty vampire-esque so I thought I'd just complete it. Glad you like it! Thank you!

**DragonheartRAB:** Glad I caught your attention. Yes, the mirror thing will be sort of important later. -:wink:- Thank you!

**Weird Kitty Foxglove: **Oh! Yeah, totally forgot about that; it was one of those things where you smack yourself on the forehead with a loud 'DUH'. Hmmm...what excuse can I fabricate? I think we're going to have to go with the musical's "Philippe exists but not he's not there" sort of mentality or perhaps I should just state outright that this is post musical/movie with book details added in here and there. Thanks for bringing that to light (I'll go read the book again) and thanks for reviewing.

**Lizzie Black:** Here it is. Thank you!

**lazy.kender:** Aww shucks. :) glad you liked the image. BTW, Erik will visit Christine relatively soon (with a little less biting). Thank You!

**phantomgoddess34:** Aww thank you! I've really been fighting to keep Erik consistent. Thanks again.

**Neori:**haaa I emailed you first anyway; if you kill me, I can't update, now can I? Thank you!

**Emily Willow:** Thank you!

**Susie Q: **Philippe is so much fun to write, too. You really shouldn't gloat just because you're privelged (soon to be roomie or not, I can hold out on you! (or lock you out of the room)). -:smirk:- Erik is mine, Darcy is yours (and I don't think many other people would pick up on that double meaning). Next years going to be a riot. See you at graduation. Thank you!

_Thanks again everyone. _

_Fair warning: I'm not exactly sure if I like how this chapter turned out...it's kind of strange to me, like awkward strange but I can't think of how to fix it. _

_Hope you like it anyway. _:)

Now to the Giry household...

* * *

Danielle Giry's hand shook as she brought the cup of tea to her lips. She set the dish down; it clattered gently on the china saucer but Mme Giry's focus was elsewhere. 

"Maman? Have you been listening to anything I've said?" Meg placed her hand on her mother's shoulder concernedly. "You've been acting strangely all morning. Please, tell me what's wrong."

Mme Giry blinked and looked upon her daughter's worried face.

"Did something happen last night?"

"Hmmm? Last night?"

"Yes, Maman. What's wrong? What happened?"

Mme Giry closed her eyes. She could still see the menacing gaze of Erik's "friend" as he suspended her in the air. She could still hear the threat in his voice. She could still remember the chills that washed over her bones as she saw his tell-tale smile.

"Nothing's wrong, my dear. I was just thinking."

"We'll you've been 'thinking' like a zombie for the past few hours. You look as if you've seen a ghost. The Baron was hoping to visit today. Shall I tell him you are indisposed?"

Mme Giry smiled warmly. "That's alright, Meg. I should learn more of this man to see if he is worthy of my daughter."

"Maman!" Meg blushed prettily. "Nothing's official."

Mme Giry would miss no opportunity to tease her daughter: "How could he not be besotted with my sweet little Meg?"

"Maman!" Meg protested again.

They were interrupted by a light knock on the door and their servant bowed. "Madame, the post has just arrived."

"Thank you, Renald, you may go." He bowed again before leaving his mistresses to their discussion. Mme Giry glanced through the letters in her hand. One a notice of little value, another she smirked as she recognized the Baron's handwriting and handed it to her daughter who accepted it eagerly. The third was what caught her attention: it was written in red ink and in handwriting she recognized instantly.

Meg excused herself to swoon over her letter in private and Mme Giry was thankful to be alone.

Her hand shaking again, she broke the seal:

_Danielle,_

_I apologize for Philippe's behavior. I assure you he will never harm you again, on this you have my word. Furthermore, I thank you for your concern and daring to bring food to this dark, forgotten cellar for some time now._

_However if you still desire some form of explanation, stop by this afternoon and perhaps you will find some answers. I believe Philippe will be preoccupied with a project for quite some time now so you have no need to fear him._

_My old friend, I would advise you to be careful and not visit my home unannounced; I cannot assure your complete safety if I am not present._

There was no signature but the correspondence couldn't be mistaken for any other. She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner and rose from her chair. Mme Giry was almost to the door as it swung open and Renald announced Christine's arrival.

Sighing, she chided herself; how could she forget? Nonetheless, she eagerly welcomed Christine into the parlor, hastily stuffing the letter in her pocket.

"Have I caught you at a bad time, Madame Giry?"

"No not at all. You are always welcome here, Christine."

Meg burst into the room. "Maman, the Baron writes he cannot visit today but he'd like to make it up to us by taking us to Rome!"

"Calm yourself, Meg!" her mother chided cheerfully.

The excited Meg noticed their visitor and rushed to greet Christine. Once she was free from the embrace, Christine asked, "Who is the Baron?"

Meg blushed sweetly as she turned to address her friend. "A dear friend."

"A suitor, unless I miss my guess." Christine glanced at Mme Giry who nodded.

Meg continued: "He is the kindest man I've ever met. And so accomplished."

"He's rather handsome, too," Mme Giry added with a sly grin to her daughter whose face flushed again.

Christine laughed lightly at the exchange, "I should like to meet this amazing gentleman."

"Oh you must, Christine," Meg insisted. "I shall ask if you can join us on our trip to Rome. I'll write him directly." Before Christine could object, Meg darted up the stairs to respond to her letter.

Mme Giry sighed. "Being in love has done nothing to calm her spirit."

"I'm so happy for her." Christine smiled brightly but the luster dimmed as she recalled what she had intended to discuss. Mme Giry hadn't noticed, too caught in her own dreaded musings.

"I had quite an exciting evening last night. I was hoping to confide in someone."

"Exciting? What do you mean by that, Christine?" Mme Giry's immediately noticed her tone and readily accepted the task for her surrogate daughter. "Tell me what has happened, my child."

Christine wrung her hands gently. "It all happened so fast. I was taking a shortcut back to the inn and this man came up from behind and attacked me…"

∞†∞

Erik looked up from his book as Madame Giry walked out of the shadows.

"Hello Danielle."

"What have you done?"

Although slightly surprised by her direct, curt tone, Erik replied lazily, "To what exactly are you referring to? My choice of society?"

"Don't play games with me, Erik." Mme Giry paced, flustered and irritated, in front of the fire while Erik watched her. After seeing that he was not intending to respond, she abruptly turned and met his gaze. "I had a visit with Christine today."

Erik blinked but otherwise showed no other reaction. "Oh. That."

"That's all you have to say? You could have killed her!"

"It was an accident."

"I don't consider chewing on someone's neck an accident, Erik."

"Careful, Madame. Do not push my patience much further."

She clamped her mouth shut, well aware of the danger in Erik's voice, yet her anger could not be docked for long. "Well thankfully she's alright, though shaken. She's not sure what to believe." Mme Giry sat down heavily on a cushioned chair and sighed. "Christine heard your voice, the voice of her angel, but felt the touch of the devil. She knows it was your voice and asked me again if you were dead. And I honestly didn't know what to tell her. Are you?"

Erik took a moment to consider her question. "I'm not sure. I'm not really sure of much anything anymore. The rules keep changing."

"Erik, how did you get caught up in this?"

"I had nothing to lose."

"But why, Erik? You're killing innocent people and—"

"I've never denied being a murderer."

"Be that as it may, why Erik?"

A voice rang from the other room, "You'll find that vampires can be truly seductive and I won't deny that Erik's case was…unique."

Mme Giry froze. "Is he here?"

Erik bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. "In a manner of speaking." He seized Mme Giry's hand and led her through a few dank corridors to Christine's old room.

There sat Philippe, still on the wrong side of the mirror, on the floor's reflection, legs stretched out in front of him and his back leaning against the golden frame. He was absently picking at invisible dirt from behind his nails as they walked in.

Mme Giry stared, speechless. She regained her voice a moment later, "His _project_, I believe?"

"Oh, ha, ha," Philippe rolled his eyes.

"What was that you said earlier?" Erik asked.

"Hmmm?"

"About my case being unique?"

"Oh, that. Well, vampires are very skilled at imposing their will upon others but we never use such methods for recruitment. I mean this is something you have eternity to deal with, who wants to be forced into it? No, we like willing members. The Circle was worried that we wouldn't reach you in time so I was allowed a little bit if necessary, though the decision was mostly yours anyway."

"In time?"

"Yes, in time. Did you know you were dying, Erik?"

Mme Giry, forgotten from the conversation for the moment, stared at Erik who lowered his head in thought.

"I had my suspicions but it didn't matter."

"The Circle has a few ties with some clairvoyants. We always like to check our members before officially inviting them regardless of the pull; it's also best to avoid situations where you could easily be spotted. In another three days, you would have died, heart attack; it was just heredity and bad luck, I'm afraid. You didn't have a month to make your choice, as is customary. And again, you made _most_ of the decision yourself."

Erik brooded; the Phantom of the Opera would be forced into nothing.

Seeing he was unconvinced, Philippe continued, "Plus, Erik, there's always revenge to be had. Or perhaps you could win back your lady love?"

"Be grateful you're on _that_ side of the mirror, Philippe. I would have no scruples in throwing you out on such a lovely, sunny afternoon." Erik grinned cynically, his mask adding to his caustic tone.

"Ouch. And I thought we were friends," Philippe replied in mock hurt. Taking an opportunity change the subject, Philippe called out, "Oy, who's there?"

Mme Giry tentatively took a few steps forward.

"Ah, yes. I remember you. Erik informs me I am not to touch you. I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Philippe de Chagny."

She jolted slightly, registering the name, but regained her authoritative air. "Madame Giry," was all her reply, all that was necessary. Instinctively, she reached out her hand to the stranger, which Philippe took and shook it readily rather than kissing the back of her hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Madame. Well would you look at that?" Philippe grinned down to his hand jutting out from the surface of the mirror.

Dropping his hand as if it were a hot iron, Mme Giry gasped and stepped back, knowing Erik was better protection than none at all.

Erik stood with his arms crossed over his chest, arching an eyebrow at Philippe. "Must you insist on frightening my guest?"

"If a simple handshake is that terrifying, I fear anything else would give her a stroke." After straitening his cravat, he swept into an elegant bow. "My apologies, Madame. Erik informs me that we have nothing to fear from you as long as I remain civil."

Mme Giry's eyebrows rose slightly, "Fear from me? What could I do?"

"Best not go into it then, wouldn't want to give any ideas." Philippe winked and walked out of the room, glad to stretch his legs again. She shied away from him as he passed.

Erik gave a light chuckle and Mme Giry glared up at him. "What is it that you find amusing?"

"I once thought that if I didn't scare you, nothing would."

She rolled her eyes and sat down on Christine's bed. "I still don't understand how you got caught up in this mess."

Erik smiled so she could see his menacing teeth. "What's there to understand? What's done is done."

Philippe's voice rang out from the other room. "I forgot to thank you for the wine you brought last time. Thank you, Madame."

She stammered out a reply before turning back to Erik with another scrutinizing glance. "I don't know what you have done to yourself, Erik. I pray that it can be reversed but I will not see you drag Christine into this. I will not have it, do you hear me?"

Erik merely returned her acid gaze with a cold glint in his icy eyes.

"I will do what is necessary to protect her."

"Now _Madame_, I had quite a time convincing Philippe we could trust you. Neither of us will stand for betrayal, you can be sure of that." Erik's other thoughts, he left unsaid: he could never condemn Christine to his company again, she had made her choice, rejecting and scarring him, and with all the strength in him, he would do nothing against the Fop.

Mme Giry nodded her head lightly, perceptive to the turmoil past the indecipherable face. "I will do nothing unless you drive me to it. Your secret is safe, all your secrets."

Mme Giry placed her hand on Erik's arm and he nodded lightly, accepting her promise. She rose to leave, the dankness of the air and the morbidity of the reality around her seeping into her bones.

Erik called after her: "How long will she be in town before she returns to her-her husband?"

"Her fiancé you mean. Oh, I believe she will stay for another week or so."

"Her fiancé?"

"Yes."

"They are not married?"

"Evidently not," she replied cautiously, silently willing him not to form any ideas.

Erik sat back, not sure what to make of the news. Mme Giry scrutinized his face for any hint of his thoughts, the revealed side of his face as unreadable as the pure white mask. Knowing better than to ask, she left the room.

Philippe spoke up from his book as she walked by, "Be careful, Madame. There are dangerous men out." He grinned and she shivered at the sight of his teeth.

As she walked back toward the surface, the light echoes of a soft melody drifted behind her.

∞†∞

* * *

_Yeah, there you have it; I still think it's kind of awkward but I'm sure I'll find out if it's really there or if it's just me. Haaa still thinking of Philippe stuck in the mirror... _:)

_And as always, **Love it or hate it, please let me know!** (good, bad, and ugly)_

_Hope all's well on your side of the internet._


	10. What goes THUD in the night

_Hey all. Time for another update. Don't know when the next one's going to be though, I've been sick for a little while (I have a fever right now but don't care) and it hasn't helped my writers block -:shakes fist at demon writer's block:-_

_Anyway, Yep, still don't own the original characters or, again, I would be swimming in my vast fortune and complimenting myself on my brilliance (j/k). Nope, credit goes to Gaston Leroux and ALW & Charles Hart (guy who wrote most of the lyrics). I'm only borrowing, making no profit, just writing for the sheer joy of writing (yay!), etc. _

_A hundred thank you's to reviewers!_

**DragonheartRAB:** -:smiles appreciatively:- I'm glad you enjoy it. I'll try to continue being unique. Thank you!

**twinlady:** again,happy to have intrigued you. (haaa I still love that image too). Thank you!

**Moo-Moo Sama: **awww, I'm glad to see you like him. Thank you!

**Victorian Dream:** aw come on; it's not that bad to use chatspeak...normally...okay... perhaps it can lead to problems if you turn it in to your teacher or something :)... meh anyway. Thank you!

**Lizzie Black:** YES. Christine and Erik will meet again in this chapter! (I'm curious if you guys'll like how I chose to do it...) Thank you!

**Killer Veggies:** haaa funny name... (sorry, will refer back to the fever comment made above, not focusing right now). Umm...yep, it's night again so hereErik goes (In touch with the ground/ I'm on the hunt I'm after you/ "Hungry like the Wolf" Duran Duran). Thank you!

**lazy.kender:** phew, glad to see it didn't come out too awkward. Thank you!

**phantomgoddess34:** haaa, Philippe is so much fun to write too. That seems to be a common sentiment; I'll see if I can incarnate him so everyone can meet him. :)But this is all we have for now :( E/C-ness! Thank you!

**Neori: **Resisted the urge to e-mail you before updating. :) Thank you!

**Midnight Tango:** living off of fanfiction isn't so bad, is it? (except when people don't update, I know -:smirk:-). Glad you liked the image. Thank you!

**Susie Q:** Yeah, I hate it when FFN switches to read only, especially for so long. tee hee, yeah Erik's response was funny-ful. Thank you!

**gavvie:** yeah, I'm not sure if I want to ask about that last bit... :) Thank you!

_I'm glad you guys really seem to like Philippe and you all rock my socks. _

_SIDE NOTE: There's a little background to a part here in a moment. The guy in the stocks is a friend of mine (No, not the same as the author Dan Brown) and he was bugging me one day so I decided to get in a little revenge since he was being a total prat.(devilish smirk)The girls he hears the story from are supposed to be myself and my buddy Kayla; Dan likes to tease us on how we're obsessed with Phantom (though he certainly has his own obsessions) so yeah...that's why I chose that name. It made me feel better and he sort of suggested it... sort of. _:)

Anywho, so begins the next chunk at Christine's room at the inn. Hope you guys like it...

Enjoy!

* * *

Christine sat down heavily on her bed at the inn, exhausted after a day of shopping with Meg. Effervescent as she was, Christine spent most of the afternoon attempting to keep up with Meg's enthusiasm. Meg told her everything, from the many virtues of the Baron to the latest gossip in town. 

"_Truly the city is in uproar. There's talk of a crazed maniac, prowling around the streets."_

"_Crazed maniac? Really Meg, what would your mother say?"_

"_It's true!" she insisted. "There've been mysterious murders all over Paris. The police are baffled. All the victims have this really strange neck wound. It's almost like those legends, you know the vampires? It's so strange but I heard such creatures were supposed to be savage brutes but the bodies are all otherwise unharmed. Do you think it could be true? It's been going on for a few weeks now but no one seems to know anything about it. Maman won't let me out of the house at night anymore, afraid of dangerous men she says. Christine? Are you alright?"_

Christine had lost track of the conversation but immediately reassured Meg that she was well. Meg needed no other invitation to resume her course of chatter. Thankfully she soon grew weary of the subject and found another piece of juicy gossip to spread. Christine nodded her head and smiled when necessary but mostly remained in her own thoughts.

_Strange neck wounds…murders all over Paris…_she shook her head violently. No. It could not be so. This killer was obviously experienced and caustic, why would he spare her? Her own words floated back into her conscious, "_Thank you so much for your assistance, monsieur. I seem to have an angel looking after me tonight_."

She shuddered again, remembering that terrifying moment and what cogitation had followed. Mayhap she did have an angel looking after her though of which sort she was uncertain. Closing her eyes, Christine reminded herself _her_ angel was gone but no matter how many times she managed to convince herself, doubt would spring anew in her heart. _No_, she reasoned, _Erik would have come to me by now. You saw his body, Christine. Move on._

Opening her eyes, she glanced at the clock and sighed; Meg had kept her out later than she'd intended. Absently running her hand over the scars on the base of her neck, she meandered to her armoire and began to ready herself for bed.

∞†∞

Philippe smirked at Erik once he finally satisfied his need for music. "Well, she was pleasant."

"I've never seen _the_ Danielle Giry so skittish in my life," Erik admitted, shaking his head.

"Well, we're not exactly your average nightmare. Rather personal instead of some story or a rat scurrying in a dark room. But to another matter: are you still set on visiting Christine?"

Erik nodded, "Spare me the lectures and don't bother trying to talk me out of it."

"Wasn't going to. I was actually going to tell you to steal a kiss for me."

Erik sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Actually, on a more serious note, I was going to tell you to be careful. Don't reveal anything unless you're planning to keep her this time. Can't have any stories falling to the wrong ears."

"I've been dead for long enough to know how to keep up such pretenses."

"Let's make sure you stay that way. Shall we?"

Erik nodded as he led the way to the surface under the cloak of night.

Collecting his cape about himself, Erik swiftly transmuted into a bat and sought his victim. He came upon the town square and selected. A tall man, skinny but not gaunt, with dark hair stood with his head and hands in the stocks, asleep despite the uncomfortable positioning. From the combination of the light glow from distant streetlamps and his own sharp eyes, he read the sign above the man's head: DANIEL BROWN, ONCE COURT ATTENDENT ACCUSED OF REFUTING THE KING. MAY HE THINK MORE WISELY OF WHOM HE "CORRECTS."

Erik grinned. No, the gentry did not appreciate their own errors blatantly pointed out; perhaps the man lacked tact or was merely a touch of a prig. Regardless, he walked over to the wooden construction and fingered the lock briefly. Smiling to himself, he took the iron and easily snapped the piece off.

The man stirred at the loud clattering as Erik let the useless metal fall to the ground. While the man tried vainly to rub his eyes with restrained wrists, Erik flipped back the wooden block over the man's neck. Slowly righting himself, Daniel rubbed his neck and stretched, wincing at the sharp complaints of stiff muscles. Satisfied, he turned to look upon his rescuer. He assessed Erik quickly before starting lightly on the mask. Trying his best not to stare, he masked a yawn and spoke with a slight English accent, "Merci, Monsieur. To whom do I owe my gratitude?"

"Oh, I believe you know who I am," Erik replied, bemused.

"I do?"

"Come now, it's not every day a man meets a legend."

Though shaken, Daniel made his best attempt to seem nonchalant; he knew very well what stories followed his rescuer's strange appearance, having listened to hours of chattering from two of his friends, Cassandra and Elizabeth, obsessed with the story. But he refused to jump to conclusions. Before he could stop himself though, he blurted out, "Monsieur, why do you wear a mask?"

Erik's sapphire eyes shot daggers at the man for the briefest of moments until they switched to a lighter tone, causing Daniel to question if the glimmer of anger had been there in the first place.

"Forgive me, Monsieur. I shouldn't have asked after you've freed me."

"Not at all. You're certainly not the only," he winced trying to find the right word, "…curious…gentleman I've met though few have dared to ask outright."

"Please, forget I mentioned it."

"No, not at all. Let me show you." Erik grinned darkly, the smile not touching his eyes.

"No really, that's not necessary. Don't—" The man was in the middle of his sentence as Erik tore the mask from his face. Daniel paled instantly and took a weak step back, too stunned to speak or close his gaping mouth.

Erik glared contemptuously before continuing in a wicked voice, "Oh, perhaps I forgot to mention, those who look upon the face of Death are condemned to it. It will be the last thing you see."

Daniel tripped over the discarded lock and scrambled away from the slow steps of Erik though nothing could save him now.

Erik finished his meal with grim satisfaction.

Wiping his mouth clean, his thoughts reverted back to Christine once more; the night was young and time was momentarily on his side. Stepping over the body as if it were a hollow log, Erik made his way over to a convenient flower stand left for the night with only a few flowers remaining in the assorted baskets. Unfortunately, no red roses were left but a passable white rose with a twisted stem was soon wrapped with a black ribbon and placed in Erik's pocket.

Merging into the surrounding shadows, Erik raced fluidly through the dark alleyways to the inn Christine was staying at. Flowing over the books in the entryway, he found Christine's delicate script and made his way up to her room, sliding under the door.

Once on the other side, he reformed into a man and his breath caught in his throat. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight and her chestnut locks glimmered ebony in the dark. Moving closer, he marveled at her innocent face, lost in a dream.

Sighing lightly with an adoring smile, Erik could not help but forgive her any indiscretion though he roughly forced such thoughts to the back of his mind. Setting the rose on the pillow next to her, he watched her sleep. Christine stirred lightly and Erik backed away, afraid that she would awaken.

Too weary to melt into shadow again, Erik made his way toward the window. He struggled briefly against the aged pane, trying to push the stubborn piece as quietly as possible. With a loud clunk, the window opened a mere crack. He glanced behind him as Christine stirred in her sleep. Returning to the window, it groaned gratingly as he pushed it further. Erik held his breath as Christine twisted once more in her dream. _Just a little more_… The gap was still not quite wide enough to allow him through; he could scarcely slip his long fingers in the gap. With another seemingly echoing rumbling squeak, the window budged another slight increment. He whipped around as she started rubbing her eyes.

The window was too narrow to pass under, as a bat or otherwise. He was too drained, despite the feast of young blood, to melt into the shadows. The door was too far away. Erik was left with two options. Christine stretched and yawned…just as Erik dove into her vanity.

Elegantly folding into a roll, Erik grimaced at the dull THUD as he hit the floor on the other side of the mirror, almost slamming into the bed's reflection.

Christine sat bolt upright and spoke to the empty room, "I didn't imagine _that_ one. Who's there?"

Erik righted himself immediately and, after checking to ensure his mask was in proper alignment, shifted to the edge of the mirror's frame, just out of sight.

After fumbling with the gas lamp for a moment, light bloomed in the room as the lamp next to Christine's bed burst to life. She glanced around the room worriedly and her fingers gently fell to the rose on the pillow next to her. Curious, she held the rose in front of her and smiled lightly. Her grin faded quickly as two thoughts registered in her mind: first, the black ribbon was _Erik's_ signature and second…someone had to have been in her room to leave it on her pillow. Still clutching the rose, she glanced around the room, not sure what she expected, or wanted, to find.

She checked the door first, still bolted shut. Christine inspected the window, still broken. Bighting her lower lip in confusion, she searched the closet and even under the bed. Erik watched as her reflection moved about the room, she was so close at times, nearly brushing his arm once, yet miles away; he resisted the urge to reach out to the image, berating himself for traitorous thoughts. _But she was so close…_

Christine eventually gave up, sighing despairingly, and sat in front of her vanity. She'd been having problems sleeping anyway; the night brought no fatigue only restlessness. She twirled the rose absently in her hand, doleful eyes reflecting bittersweet memories.

"Oh, Erik…" she murmured as she ran her fingers along the smooth satin ribbon and tears began to well up in her eyes. She never quite understood why fate had decreed that she would fall in love with Erik but there was little she could do to question it. Rising from her chair as she sought to remove traces of salt streaks from her face, Christine paced the room slowly, allowing her thoughts to wander. Erik continued to watch as her form vanished out of sight then back again as eerily and smoothly as a ghost. His ears perked up as he picked up a few notes of her mellifluous humming: it was an old tune they'd sung long ago.

He smiled to himself; this was too good an opportunity to miss. Taking a deep breath, Erik released his angelic voice to the same tune. "_Flattering child you shall know me. See why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror."_ Christine's pacing form stopped and she stared wide-eyed at her own reflection, numbly sitting in front of the vanity.

Emerging from the edge of the frame, cape elegantly flowing after, he finished in a strong whisper: "_I am there inside!_"

* * *

**Authoress normal Ramblings:** Lol, sorry couldn't resist (both how Erik first said hello here and leaving it off there.)Umm...I think I'll get to writing more in case anyone decides to threaten me for that... :) I'll try to get the next chunk up within a week at the most (I think it'll be earlier but just in case...) 

Take care, all.

Philippe and Erik plushies to reviewers! **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_**


	11. Interlude in the Mirror

_Hey guys. I've had a rough couple of days here to say the least (spent 6 and a half hours at the ER yesterday but I'm feeling loads better now). Anyone up for an update?_

_And before I forget: Don't own the orignial **Phantom of the Opera** characters. No sudden Leroux inheiritance or shifting of other copyrights lately so I'm still just a poor student. Imerely enjoy manipulating them. _

_Wow, new outlook of FFN is pretty nice. I didn't know this story was on 26 fav story lists! A bunch of them I haven't heard of; that's SO COOL but I'd love to hear from you of course! On the bio page of cm1000 I read that you like Darcy and Elizabeth and I went spastic; **Pride and Prejudice** is one of my absolute favs. _

_Sorry, I digress. A hundred thank you's to reviewers (and I hope you like your virtual Erik and Philippe plushies!)_

**DragonHeartRAB**: Jeeze, quick with the draw there. very much glad you enjoyed it! Thank you!

**Victorian Dream**: I don't like using a lot of song lyrics usually (I can't tell you how many times I've read a story and gone through "Music of the Night" which, although it is a lovely song and symbolic in it's own right, gets old) but this one was just rather appropriate. :) Thank you!

**phantomann**: oooo! A patron! That would rock. Just not Raoul; since no one seems to like him, he'd be rather bad for business now wouldn't he:) Thank you!

**twinlady**: Almost over being sick (I think) and once I'm done here I think I know where to go next. Who says wishing and hope don't work:) Thank you!

**Emily Willow**: Yay! Glad to have won you over a bit more. Thank you!

**phantomgoddess34**: Haaa you make me chuckle. Yay, you liked the ending! (Tee Hee, that's another one added to my favorite parts, too) Take a break from bouncing, here it is! Thank you!

**Killer Veggies**: Interesting, yes indeed. I just hope I did it some form of justice (fingers crossed...eep). Thank you!

**nightbug08**: (snicker) sneaky Erik indeed. Enjoying your plushie? Thank you!

**Neori**: yep, very impossible or to quote my keychain, "Why be difficult when you can be impossible?" I never really thought that one applied to me as much as the others but hey. It's easy to see Christine's face, close your eyes and imagine. Okay so maybe that's not always easy but it sounds good in theory. No, I don't imagine the Emmy Rossum look. My mind's eye Christine looks a little different though I like the darker hair better than blond and now I'm rambling. Thank you!

**arwen1604**: hee hee. yep, I'm mean. awww thank you! And "my Erik" just told me to say thank you for him, too :)

**Melinda Daae**: Ah, glad to hear you enjoy it. and yes, you DO have to love Gerard Butler. While part of me says that Erik really shouldn't be so handsome, the rest of me doesn't mind the eye candy. I also believe there's no reason Erik can't have a nice body even if his face is...well... a little different. And you stole my idea for the next plusie:) I'll have to think of something else...hmm...ooo! and Thank you!

**Midnight Tango**: "You ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" sorry, that quote sprung to mind when I looked at your name again. Name the movie! And I'm honored to be considered a favorite.Waits over (briefly). Thank you!

**Lizzie Black**: Hello again! glad to have caught you by surprise there. Send me something to work on! ;) Thank you!

_And thanks again. You know, this section is getting really long. I might get to a point where I won't have room anymore...then I'll just have to fill it with MORE STORY. _

_Anyway, on with the show!_

**_Last Time:_**

**He smiled to himself; this was too good an opportunity to miss. Taking a deep breath, Erik released his angelic voice to the same tune. "_Flattering child you shall know me. See why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror."_ Christine's pacing form stopped and she stared wide-eyed at her own reflection, numbly sitting in front of the vanity. **

**Emerging from the edge of the frame, cape elegantly flowing after, he finished in a strong whisper: "_I am there inside!_"**

**_And now:_**

With a cry of surprise, Christine covered her mouth with her hand watching as Erik stood behind her reflection. "Erik…" was all she could manage. Expectantly, she whipped around in her seat.

But there was no Erik standing behind her. She reassured herself that his reflection was indeed in the mirror before turning around again.

Her face fell in disappointed confusion. "No. It's just a ghost. Just a ghost…" Running her fingers through her curls, she gripped them tightly and leaned forward, cradling her head as she wept.

Mildly surprised by Christine's reaction, Erik resisted the immediate urge to touch her, the real her. But to exit the mirror now would ruin any cover story he could contrive and possibly only frighten her further. He managed to settle with placing his hands reassuringly on the reflection's shoulders as he hummed a soft tune.

"Why do you cry, Christine?"

She looked back to the mirror and smiled lightly as she placed a hand over one of his, sadly unable to feel it.

Christine sighed shakily; she had no reason to lie to a ghost. "Because no amount of wishing will bring you back, Erik. It's all my fault. I never should have left. Why are you here? A specter brought forth to torment me?"

"You know nothing of torment," he reposted brusquely.

Christine was unfazed. "I've lost my mother, I've lost my father, in many ways I've lost Raoul, and I've lost you. No, I never went through life as you have, Erik, but I've suffered enough. Why are you here?" she repeated.

"I wanted to see you again," he replied honestly.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut though tears still managed to leak out. "It's only going to be that much harder when you leave again."

"As I recall, you were the one who left last time."

"Only because I thought you didn't want me to stay. You commanded me to leave!"

"You've disobeyed me before, Mademoiselle. Or should I say Madame de Chagny?"

"That's not fair, Erik."

"Fair. Yes. I suppose it isn't but then again I've been the butt of an endless joke from God all my life. Why should _I_ be fair?" Part of Erik's mind raged against his tongue; all his pent-up emotions sprung from his lips before he could stop them, despite Christine's obvious distress. "You left without a word, Christine. Without a word."

"What would you have had me say, Erik? I was confused, put through one of the most traumatic and exciting experiences of my life. No one was thinking straight that night," she pointed out. "Sometimes I still don't know what to think," she added quietly.

Erik curbed his anger. "I'm sorry, Christine." He began to move to the edge of the frame.

"No! Don't go!" Christine cried out urgently, her voice slightly choked. Erik froze and turned his head slowly. "Please, don't leave me, Erik."

Erik nodded solemnly, sliding back into view.

"Erik, I'm sorry. For everything. You gave me music, something I thought had died with my father. You taught me how to sing with the backing of my heart and you risked everything to help me. I still can't sing without my Angel of Music flooding my thoughts. And I betrayed you, left you for dead. I would ask your forgiveness but I don't deserve it." Her eyes were dry but she refused to turn her bloodshot gaze upon Erik.

His anger melted as he tenderly placed one gloved hand under her (or rather her reflection's) chin and drew her gaze toward him in the mirror. Christine naturally followed her reflection's shift and remorsefully met Erik's consoling brilliantly-blue eyes.

In his heart, he had already long forgiven her—she who had been the first to kiss his inhuman lips and touch his soul—but his redoubt was too fragile to speak the words. "Could you ever find it within you to forgive a deformed monster for his numerous crimes?"

"Never a monster, Erik. I will forgive you everything on one condition, sing for me?"

"I'd rather you sang with me. It has been far too long since you've graced the world with your voice, Christine."

"If only the world could have known the song of a true musician with the voice of an angel. Who has been there to hear your voice?"

"An acquaintance of yours, actually. Philippe is a rather hopeless student though." Erik bit his tongue—nearly drawing blood, he noted—not intending to reveal so much.

Christine's eyes bulged momentarily but she recovered herself quickly brushing the comment away. "What shall we sing?"

"Whatever my lady wishes," Erik swept a mock bow.

With a bittersweet smile, recalling lessons long past, Christine launched into an Italian aria from _La Traviata_ only to have Erik join her in a duet as the characters sang of hope.

The entire inn roused from their slumber as the echoing strains of a heavenly duet saturated the air…at least until a couple ungrateful tenants shouted for their disturbed rest. Christine grinned sheepishly and docked her tone, reminding herself that there was no need to project in such a small space. The mirror vibrated lightly as Erik, too, continued to sing in softer tones that were no less intoxicating.

Christine sighed contentedly as the last strains were released from her throat. Blinking slowly, she sat back in her chair.

"You're out of practice, my dear." She grinned lightly, acknowledging it to be true. "Though it has been more than I could have hoped for to hear you again." Erik collected himself and began to slide toward the edge of the frame again.

Christine immediately protested, "No! Erik, please don't leave!"

"If that is what you wish, Christine," he replied smoothly, despite his growing anxiety of the lightening sky. "I will stay until you fall asleep."

"I wish we didn't have to say goodbye again."

Erik, unsure of how to reply, said nothing but merely nodded. Christine stood up, leaned toward the mirror, and kissedit lightly, saddened that it was her own image that had to meet it and that she could only feel the cold, smooth surface. She ran her fingers over where Erik was, again only meeting the touch of her reflection's fingertips rather than reaching him.

"Goodnight, Erik. May the angels watch over your soul."

"They are too busy watching over one of their own, she's masquerading as a human down on earth." She smiled lightly before walking over to her bed. Pulling the covers about herself, she watched Erik in the mirror for some time before her eyes shut, too afraid that it would be the last time she would look upon her Angel of Music.

∞†∞

Philippe paced in the room he had designated as his own. Erik still hadn't returned; he could feel it. It was one of his special skills, being able so sense one of their kind. Closing his eyes, he focused his mind, straining to feel where he was… a slight twinge in his subconscious reported back; he was somewhere on the east side of town and he'd wager his gold pocket watch—a de Chagny heirloom (complete with a picture of Adele) that he supposed rightfully belonged to Raoul at this point—and ten minutes in the sun that he was with Christine.

Sighing lightly, Philippe sat down heavily into a nearby chair. He could get used to life here, he mused, though he doubted he could stay much longer.

The clairvoyants had seen more about Erik than an impending death. No, there was something more. A journey, yes, and something more. Something important. The gypsy mystics had never failed in their premonitions—especially under their dark alliance sprung from their superstitious fear and the promise of protection should they comply—yet Erik's reading was hazy at best with only vague outlines and random moments of clarity portraying a few specific events. Somehow, he was important to the Circle.

_And somehow I'm involved_. Philippe didn't understand why the Elders of the Circle had chosen him to recruit a new vampire—he himself was but a child in their standings. There were many things he didn't understand, despite the additional information the Elders had told him. There was more, Philippe was sure, though he knew better than to ask; impertinent questions were not tolerated by the Elders. Erik knew nothing of the entirety of his reading no more than any other vampire did but for what the Elders chose to tell. And even then, the truth that you heard was not always the truth you thought it was.

Philippe sighed again, reaching for the bottle of wine. He reflected back to what pieces of information he'd been given on his own reading, or rather what he'd been able to decipher: there was something with Raoul and a warning against shattering glass. Yet the rest of what the Elders had told him (even that was relatively short) was a befuddling mess.

Blinking slowly, Philippe glanced at the clock on the mantle: the sun would be up soon. It was too late to chase after him now. Philippe reasoned that he'd just have to pray that Erik found some safe place to stay for the night.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress Babble:** yep, can't go an entry without this. As always, eager for what you have to say, be it good, bad, or ugly (just please be pseudo-nice about it, not total bashing). I'd love to be a writer someday but I'm not arrogant enough to ignore that a heck of a lot of polishing is in order before I make it there. 

Don't know when next update will be; never know what cards life will deal next.

Again, **_love it or hate it, please let me know!_** (Reviewers get Punjab Action! plushie Erik (complete with lasso) and a new Philippe plushie who states "I hate mirrors" when you squeeze his tummy. Start your collection today! j/k)

Much love, all.


	12. A Day at the Inn

_Ah, the usual: Still don't own the characters. Plot is MINE -:menacing growl:-_

_First off, the answers to two unasked questions:_

_No. I have no intention of giving up on this story; my muse has been on haitus and I've only recently started the process of trying to coerce her back to work. If such a calmity were to happen, there would be plenty of notice so no worries there. _

_And yes. I DID fall off the face of the earth. Sorry it's been so God-awful-long since I've updated. Haven't been up to typing or much anything else for that matter. I've been more than a little sick this summer but after two rather hellish months I think I might actually be finally free to recouperate and enjoy the last month before I start college here. After 3 seperate trips to the ER, more doctors visits than I can count, a 5 night stay in the hosptial, and a 7 night stay that included an 8 hour drive to transfer up to Mayo clinic (because the docs here admitted that they didn't know anything else they could do for me), I think I've earned a break. But I'd rather just forget about all that and think about Erik here. Still trying to beseech my muse -:readies platter of chocolates:-. _

_**OH!** Before I forget (like I could): when I got back I was absolutely thrilled to see that I broke 100 reviews! -:sniff, wipes tear:- it's a dream come true, thank you all so much!_

**phantomann:** -:giggle:- my lips are sealed :). Thank you!

**Emmanuelle Lisselle Grey:** yay! glad to have caught your attention. Thank YOU!

**Victorian Dream:** ha, glad to add to your collection. :) We'll see if I stay in character this time around; I had some issues. Glad you're still there. Thank you!

**DragonheartRAB:** nope I wouldn't. Couldn't kill Erik like that anyway yet... nah. sorry it took so long. Thank you!

**Lady sernna Valerious:** awww thank you!

**gavvie:** star wars? oh my. Thank you!

**Killer Veggies:** they will be together in time, I promise. Thank you!

**Neori:** yeah, you might still feel bad for Christine at the end of this one too... oops... :) anyway, thank you!

**Midnight Tango:** yes! it was the Joker. I love superheroes... and because everyone seems to need some reassurance: YES, IT WILL BE AN E/C. I just don't want them to jump into it illogically; I'm trying to make it fit a little more naturally I mean Erik's been hurt, he's going to be a little wary but he will get there, I promise. Thank you!

**decadentserenity:** ooo, interesting name! glad you like phillippe but I don't know if I'll ever be able to give up vampire Erik. Thank youso much!

**twinlady: **actually he doesn't make it back but you'll see what I mean. aww shucks...thank you!

**cm1000:** hey, no problem.Thank you so much!

**GerikMuse:** hee hee, I got another couple of those interactions planned ahead. aww, I've been favorited! Thank You!

**phantomgoddess34:** Aww, thank you! again, sorry to make you wait so long. :)

**Elizabeth:**-:blushes:-I'm honored :). Thank you!

**Omega Davin:** aww shucks. Thank you!

**Captain Oblivious: **yes, vampires are rather fun indeed. glad to catch your interest. Thank you!

**Kitty Felone:** we'll just have to wait and find out, won't we? (I'm not entirely clear myself-:smirk:-) btw, if you'd still like me to edit stuff, just send it to me anytime. Thank You!

_I really like responding individually to reviewers (because you guys are just so cool!) but I might have to stop with responses like that...hmm...I'll just have to fill the space with more story then...yeah...that'll work. :) Jeeze, I hope half of you come back..._

_ANYWAY...Let's get back to what Erik is doing, eh?_

* * *

Erik didn't remember falling asleep but he woke up with his head resting on Christine's bed (or rather, the reflection of it), sitting next to it with his legs sprawled out and his cape functioning as a makeshift blanket. Christine shifted in the bed and the sun was in full glory, thankfully on the other side of the bed for the moment, though even that was blinding to his eyes. He pulled his cape over his head while Christine pulled the covers over her own, moaning that morning had come too early. Baking under his cape, Erik threw it off and slid under the bed's reflection, staring out of the mirror and just watching Christine, grateful that the angle made it possible. 

He had no idea how long he watched her; his only clue was the sunlight creeping across the room…dangerously close to the mirror. He edged away from the bright rectangle that appeared with the rest of the reflection, squinting even in the shadows left. As close to the edge of the frame as he could manage, Erik alternated between watching Christine and hiding from the brilliant sunlight that was scalding his eyes.

The sunlight stretched further. Erik was running out of space to move. Again, his choices were limited.

"Christine," he hissed. She stirred lightly so he tried again a little louder, "Christine!"

She sat up and blinked heavily. "Erik?" she murmured groggily.

"Yes."

A smile bloomed on her face as she met the gaze of his form in her mirror. "I didn't dream it. You're still here."

"So I am. Christine, I need you to do something."

"Anything, Erik."

"Cover this mirror."

Confusion crossed her face. "Cover the mirror? But why, Erik?"

"The sun," he replied simply.

Still not entirely understanding, Christine assumed that either ghosts were beings of the night and therefore not accustomed to the sun or perhaps it was just Erik's way after having spent much of his life in a cellar as she moved toward the mirror with one of the extra blankets from her bed.

"Erik, how do I know you won't disappear?"

"Does that matter, Christine? You must do this. Please." Erik hated having to beg, preferring obedience especially as the sun drew closer and brilliance of the room made his eyes ache and his skin burn.

He sighed with relief as she placed the dark cover over the mirror. The objects that had once settled in the reflection were gone; only the hazy grey memory of Christine's furniture was left in this empty world.

"I will not go yet, Christine," he stated in a voice slightly muffled by the blanket, answering her unasked question.

She lifted the corner of the blanket and, surprised, he ducked away from the light. At his abrupt reaction, she dropped the cover back into place. "Please don't leave. I will return later tonight. Rest well, my Angel of Music."

"Goodbye, Christine."

Christine froze in her steps as a flash of memories flooded her thoughts. She shook off the question that was about to bloom from her lips. How did one broach such a question? Besides, Erik was obviously limited to the mirror as far as she knew; he could not have said those words in the alleyway. Shrugging away dark thoughts, Christine called to Erik one last time: "I'm off to visit Madame Giry and Meg. I shouldn't be too long. Please don't go," she pleaded again.

He didn't answer, refusing to promise anything he was uncertain of.

After a moment of enduring his silence, Christine nodded although she knew Erik probably couldn't see it and walked out the door.

Erik sighed and relaxed into the fathomless dark, stretching his arms behind his head and leaning back into a cushion of nothing. He had seen Christine and just as in the past, it was never enough. He wanted to be like any normal person and be able to care for her the rest of his life…without the curse of his abhorrent face and now this new blessed condemnation. But she didn't want his care before; to hope now would be a mistake.

One thing for sure, he couldn't spend the rest of his life in a mirror at this small inn; it was best he leave before he grew too attached. Or starved to death. Somehow Erik doubted that the blood of beams of light forming a reflection would be very satisfying nor could he expect to sustain himself on the inn staff for eternity, all too certain even the most simpleminded fools would find a pattern eventually.

His cognitive path lead to the focus of his problem: how was he to escape and still continue this charade? Christine had not apparently connected him with anything outside of visiting her room at this point; how would she react if he emerged from the mirror, solid and whole? No, the half-baked explanations would never satisfy her, it was too complicated. Undoubtedly she would return before dark and to venture out now would be suicide. His thoughts drifted around his problem and he eventually fell into a troubled sleep.

Sometime later, Erik woke to the sound of fluttering sheets as the maid came in to turn down Christine's bed. The woman was singing to herself in a horribly off-key voice and Erik cringed with each malformed note. He smirked to himself; this could be a lovely opportunity to strike up a bit of fun.

That and he was famished.

In his most eldritch tone, Erik threw his voice: "A curse." Throwing his voice to a new direction, he continued: "A curse."

After his words sprung from several different directions, the maid called out shakily, "W-who's there?"

"A curse. A curse. What else can speak without being seen?"

The poor wretch swallowed nervously. "Are you a ghost?"

"Brava. A curse. A curse."

"W-what curse?"

"You have fallen under a curse."

"I-I do not believe in such things."

"Nor did I, once a long time ago. (A curse, a curse.)"

"Pierre, is that you? This isn't funny."

"I'm afraid it's rather grave. See I, too, did not believe but that has not saved me the wrath of this curse."

"What can I do to appease you, spirit? What have I done?"

Erik smirked; it was all too easy. "Why you have entered this room, simple as that. I carry the curse; now it is yours."

The maid's lower lip trembled as she stammered, "Please, spirit, have mercy."

"Perhaps there will be hope for you yet," Erik spoke in a low tone. Dropping his voice further to a dangerously sultry level, he beckoned her, "come. Come to the mirror."

Without questioning, she made her way over and stood before the mirror. She started to lift the corner of the makeshift cover cautiously…then screamed as Erik's arm seized her wrist and yanked her underneath the cover and into the mirror.

Covering her mouth with his hand to muffle her protests, Erik whispered, "You are released."

Rejuvenated, Erik licked his teeth slowly, attempting to remove the remnants of his meal. _Best not to have any evidence when Christine arrives_. Dragging the corpse over, he stowed the poor woman underneath a darker shadow, where the bed would be reflected later. As long as the real bed was never moved, the reflection would conceal her and none would ever see her body; even then, what could they do?

After he congratulated himself on his genius, the door creaked softly and Erik listened cautiously.

"Erik, are you still here?" Christine whispered tentatively.

Relieved, Erik asseverated with a murmur of yes.

Christine sighed. "I was afraid you'd leave me again."

Not trusting himself to form a suitable answer, Erik said nothing for a moment before changing the subject: "How was your visit?"

"Well, you know Meg and she's as lively as ever. She's likely to be engaged to a Baron soon."

Erik made a noncommittal sound. "And how is her dear mother?"

"As formidable as ever but I think she's worried about losing her daughter."

Erik nodded understandingly, though the cover blocked Christine's view. Her fingers itched to reach over and rip the blanket off but the last few bars of the sun stretched through the sky and it was still too bright to risk it yet, she reasoned. Something in the back of her mind nagged her, what if this was the last chance she'd have to speak with him or could look into his crystalline blue eyes? Preferring to avoid such thoughts as long as possible, Christine searched for another subject to speak on even just to assure that he was still there.

"What of your mother, Erik?"

"I barely knew her. She couldn't stand the sight of me."

_Bad subject choice, Christine_. "Oh, Erik. I'm so sorry."

"Why? It wasn't you. You came later." Again, the bitterness seeped into his words.

"But to grow up like that, it's just horrible."

"It got worse," he murmured darkly.

"Erik, please tell me."

"And dwell in self-pity? No, I would not have you pity me, Christine."

"I'd like to know Erik; I want to understand."

"That's the problem, you don't understand. I don't think you'd be quite so willing to hear the details."

In a small voice and with no small amount of courage, Christine stated, "Tell me, Erik. Maybe it can help you." With that, she pulled the cover off the mirror and looked unblinkingly into his eyes, maneuvering so her own reflection was not in the way.

He squinted slightly but met her gaze and she didn't turn away, allowing him to comprehend her sincerity. "Do you really want to know?" She nodded. "Once I start, there is no stopping. I have lived a truly wretched existence."

"I understand."

"Alright. If you are certain. Turn the mirror slightly, it is still too bright." Performing as she was bid, Christine then sat down on the bed, letting herself be comfortable for what promised to be a long story.

Erik took a deep breath. _She really wanted to know; well I'm not going to sugarcoat anything_…

He started at the place most life's stories began, at his eventful birth. He'd never related his story in its entirety before and he was surprised at what details he disclosed so fluidly. Erik hadn't even privileged the good Daroga with such complete information that now tumbled from his lips. Christine didn't flinch when he spoke of his mother's hatred for her own son or how many betrayals he'd suffered, only silent tears poured down her cheeks. Erik wished she would stop; it only provoked his own forgotten tears and choked his voice. He sat down next to her reflection but resumed pacing when restlessness overtook him.

"…Then I made a home in the cellars of the opera house. I believe you know much of the rest from there." _Or at least, all that you should know at this point._

Christine didn't say anything at first. Erik waited patiently for her words of pity, certain they would come knowing Christine's caring nature, but for the moment, he breathed deeply relaxed with a sense of catharsis and relief that he hadn't felt since…well…ever. Well possibly once he had finished his opus _Don Juan Triumphant _or perhaps that brief moment before Christine had removed his mask, either time, or maybe when they sang...

Forcing the thoughts back to his subconscious, Erik fought to retain his moment of peace.

Christine finally regained her voice: "Oh, Erik." Watching her movements in the mirror, she tried to manipulate her reflection to reach her arms around a vision. She closed her eyes sharply to restrain the growing stream of tears as she could feel nothing in her own arms. "I've only added to your pain. I'm so sorry. I would gladly take some of this from you." The sincerity of her words was moving but Erik said nothing, merely stared at the floorboards. "Suddenly you make a little more sense, Erik." She sighed. "What can I do to ease the passing of your spirit?"

Erik frowned in surprise, her response was not what he suspected but then again, she did think he was dead. "I don't think there's anything you can do." _Especially since I'm not entirely dead yet._

Somehow, they managed to change topics and speak of happier things, fond memories of the opera house and the croaking Carlotta. Erik even allowed himself to laugh, not even noticing that the sky had darkened and night had slowly come upon them.

A loud knocking at the door interrupted their conversation. "Miss Christine, it's Ella. Would you care for some supper?"

"Yes, please, just a moment…" She flew over to the mirror and turned it slightly, catching the look in Erik's eyes as he understood and sent a message of his own. Christine prayed that she had misinterpreted the 'goodbye' reflected in his melancholy gaze.

Lighting a few candles in the now dark room, Christine called to Ella, "come on in."

The sweet woman brought her gift in cheerfully. "Good evening, Christine. Since you didn't send for anything at your usual time, I thought perhaps you'd be hungry eventually." She set the tray down on the table and neatly folded the towel she'd used to protect her hands, tucking it under her arm. "Who were you talking to, child?"

Blushing a royal scarlet, Christine stammered, "I-I wasn't talking to anyone."

Ella was a shrewd and observant woman, despite her airy nature, but said nothing even with clues such as the rose settled in a glass by her bed and her obvious fidgeting distress nor did she mention the heavenly duet overheard by the entire inn.

"Well if you or anyone else needs anything, don't hesitate to call."

"I will, Ella. Thank you."

Closing the door behind her, Ella shook her head lightly and returned her mind to her other problem: Daphne hadn't returned from her rounds. She was a good maid, well skilled, but perhaps the girl was off with a gentleman caller in a dark corner somewhere; yet Ella couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that perhaps something had happened to the girl.

Christine secured the door behind Ella and immediately ran over to the mirror. "Erik, she's gone. Erik?" She turned the panel to face her and only met the eyes of her own reflection. "Erik? Erik?" She called to him a few more times before cradling her head in her hands.

Erik left the room as quickly as he could, sliding along the walls as a shadow, but he could not escape the sound of Christine's sobs as they echoed in his ears.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress Rambling:** well there we have it. Poor Christine. No worries, I don't intend to leave her desolate for too long. Still patheitically begging my muse to return but I'm confident that they shall be swayed soon...one way or another...-:readies spygear:-

Happy Writing/Reading/Whatever everyone! Hope all's well on your side of the internet.

And as always: **_Love it or hate it, please let me know what you think! _**Mini-monkey-music boxes to reviewers!


	13. Oh Brother or Information

_Hey everyone! This story is currently on 31 favorites lists! Amazing milestone for me, you guys rock! (though I haven't heard from many of you before, it's still pretty cool)._

_I'm updating much quicker this time than I did last time, lucky chapter 13. And my muse paid me a lovely visit last night so I actually have something worth posting, too; how about that:)_

_Reviewer responses!_

**Killer Veggies:** Didn't take too terribly long, now did it:) No worries, Erik will go back (and I actually have some ideas on how it's going to go through) Thank you!

**DragonheartRAB:** nope, not dead. he's going to have to think over things before he goes back, of course but I'm already working on Erik's return. Thank you!

**lazy.kender:** gah, another complaint against FFN -:shakes fist:- I feel your pain. Thank you!

**Kitty Felone: **Hee hee, glad you like it. Thank you!

**phantomgoddess34:** -:hugs Erik plushie:- and Thank you!

**Victorian Dream: **nope, not gone yet. Ooo, good luck with piano, congrats on the puppy (awww!), and Thank you!

**Neori:** well, I told you so :). Thank you!

**I am the Angel of Music:** Dear me, did I forget you! I'm so sorry! And yeah, Christine thinks she's seeing a ghost for the moment and I suppose she is _half_ right. And no worries, I'm working on the next chunky and, should my muse (whohas beenmaking a few shy appearances) direct it so, I think we'll clear up that little...hmmm...misunderstanding. We'll see. :) Thank You!

_Alrighty, here we're going to get into my version of Philippe's "death" and Erik's thoughts after leaving Christine. Plus some good ol' fashioned Philippe/Erik banter. I had a couple awkward phrasings in this chappie that I just couldn't seem to fix and Erik's thoughts are supposed to jump around a bit...hope that doesn't throw anyone..._

* * *

Raoul paced in his room, too restless to sleep though it was well past midnight. Guilt was eating at his stomach, regardless of how hard he tried to slake it with brandy. First off, there was obviously the matter of Philippe, his only brother. 

No matter what anyone else told him, he still could not shake the feeling that he could have done something. Was he not his brother's closest companion? What had he missed? Had he been too distracted with making certain Christine felt comfortable that he'd neglected any warning signs? Raoul knew that Philippe had changed since Adele died. Once Philippe had told him everything, acting as his father after their own had passed away. But then he retracted into a shell; it was painful to see. Yet even still, Raoul worked to bring him back into society, and he seemed to improve for a while. He never thought for a minute that Philippe would take his own life.

With a shaking hand, Raoul unlocked the top left-hand drawer of the oak desk and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper. The words hadn't changed, no matter how many times he'd read over them:

_—Raoul,_

_By the time you've received this letter, I'm already gone. You're the new Comte de Chagny; bring glory to the name where I have failed. I cannot bear this world any longer. Farewell my favorite younger brother._

_--Philippe de Chagny_

It was unmistakably his writing and the quip at the end had been a long standing joke between them; of course Raoul was his favorite younger brother, he was his only brother. Raoul thought back to when he'd received the note (he'd been out of town with Christine) and the haste he'd taken to reach the manor immediately after comprehending Philippe's message. Bursting through the doors and startling his butler, he'd made his way to this very room after several servants had informed him that Philippe had decreed none should disturb him.

The sight of his brother's limp body, one of his wrists caked with dried blood, plagued his dreams for nights since. Christine came through the door and saw him next to Philippe, turning a nasty shade of pale green. He'd tended to her then and some time later he sent a few messages to the mortician, the authorities, remaining family, etc. When he returned to the room and met a disturbing sight: Philippe's body was gone. The remnants of his blood clung to the expensive carpet but there was no sign of him.

Shaken, Raoul had demanded from every servant to know exactly who had been allowed in but he found no answers. Then he heard a strange sound echo in the silence: a cry of pain from above. Raoul raced to the attic; he knew his brother's voice anywhere though it didn't seem possible to hear it again. Yet all he found once he reached the musty room were a few old boxes and a bat.

The next few weeks, various whispers in the night took the form of his brother's voice, haunting his thoughts until, thankfully, the familiar murmurs left.

And here he was now, just as pathetic as his brother had been, secluded in the study in his grief.

A second gnawing in the back of his mind fluttered to the front of his conscious: Christine. He knew he'd further neglected her in the midst of his own mourning. It had been such a rocky journey to make it this far and his heart couldn't take it to burden their relationship any further. After he had watched her coach leave for Paris, he resolved that things would be different once she returned. She'd been through so much; he owed her so much more. In the Phantom's catacombs, she was ready to sacrifice herself so that he could be free, despite his protests. He would not lose her again.

Raoul sighed heavily. Dwelling on his depressed thoughts was doing nothing to soothe them. It was past time he get some rest, and then possibly he could surprise Christine by joining her in Paris.

He smiled weakly to himself. He would conquer this yet.

∞†∞

Staring up at the elegant beauty of a thousand bright stars, Erik's discursive thoughts preoccupied him from anything else: Why had he disclosed so much of his past to Christine? It seemed unnecessary to divulge so many details…The look of her eyes as she challenged his gaze. That frisson shared in singing together once more. And her reactions still confused him. Perhaps he did not mind pity when it sprung from her lips…

Wearily shaking such thoughts from his head, he tired again to order the facts. She felt guilt, nothing more; to believe any differently would be a painful delusion. She had missed him, though not in the matter he would have wished. She was distressed when he left, a situation that could be rectified (if only briefly) should he risk seeing her again. Christine would be in town for another week or so yet. She still didn't seem to suspect anything other than he was a ghost.

"There you are. Have a long night did we?" Philippe taunted next to him.

Refusing to rise to the bait, Erik rolled his head over to look at his strange comrade, floating in midair next to him. Returning his gaze to the sky and readjusting himself on the cold stone statue on top of the opera house, Erik gave a small nod.

Philippe sighed, disappointed that he had failed to start trouble. "An interesting trip, yes?"

Without removing his gaze from the twinkling stars, Erik stated, "Yes."

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me about it, are you?"

The visible corner of Erik's mouth quirked slightly, "Nope."

"Oh come off it. Let's hear it. How's _dear_ Christine?"

After tensing slightly, Erik sighed and responded, "She's doing well."

"No worse for the wear?"

"No."

"Well aren't you just a spout of information," Philippe murmured in a slightly frustrated tone.

The corner of Erik's mouth merely quirked again, threatening to turn into a smile.

"Well I was going to tell you something important but I suppose since you're acting so belligerent I might not."

"Very mature, Philippe. All that's left is to stick out your tongue."

"Well then, let's be thorough," he smirked as he stuck at his tongue.

Erik shook his head.

"Are you patronizing me?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, at least you're honest, I suppose." Philippe rolled his eyes. "Anyway, there are a couple things I thought you ought to know. The first involves Christine."

Erik turned to look at Philippe before sitting up. "What's wrong with Christine?"

"Nothing, nothing is wrong with Christine," he assured him. "It's more of an indirect involvement, calm down." Philippe sat up to face Erik. "Do you remember what I told you the first night? That there were two ways to join the Circle?"

"Yes, direct invitation and a blood union," Erik replied carefully.

"Well I never really told you what a blood union was. I didn't think it would be important. I mean it hasn't been successfully completed for a few centuries. I suppose when you break it down, it doesn't sound that complicated but there's much more to it." Philippe stopped for a moment and Erik silently encouraged him to continue. "Well put simply, it's once, bitten—"

"And twice shy? Yes, I'm familiar with the expression and unfortunately I'm familiar with the truth of it as well."

Philippe looked at him curiously. "Yes I suppose that's true but this is not exactly a common saying." Sighing again, he continued in a serious demeanor, "Anyway, broken down a blood union is simply this: once, bitten; twice, offered; and thrice shared."

Erik mulled over the comment briefly. "That doesn't sound so complicated. I mean the first bite is simply taken then the subject has to offer themselves then…how can they share?"

"Again, it's more complicated than it seems. First off, the subject has to survive the first two and you know how hard it is to stop. Furthermore, you have to be sure of who you're biting. You're bond together for eternity. And there are other circumstances but again, this hasn't been successfully completed for centuries."

"What happens to those that fail?"

Philippe gave grim smile, "There are some things you'd really feel better not knowing; trust me on this one."

Erik reclined against the statue once more, absorbing the conversation. He'd bitten Christine once; there was a possibility…but to condemn her for eternity… Sighing heavily, he had to let the hope slip from his mind. Another part of the discussion sparked Erik's interest before he completely submitted to his thoughts: "What was the other thing?"

"Hmmm?" Philippe, who had started to walk off, turned around.

"You said there were two things you wanted to discuss?"

"Ah, yes. Did you have any other friends at the opera house?" he asked casually.

Erik was immediately suspicious, "What have you done?"

"Oh so quick to judge. Who said I did anything?"

"Philippe, what did you do?"

Philippe sighed and smiled again, "I suppose I have a bit of a reputation, eh? Ah well… This older gentleman found his way into the house yesterday afternoon."

"Oh?"

"He claimed to know you but I wasn't taking any chances. He looked to be of Middle Eastern decent, had jade green eyes, and one of those astrakhan hats. I swear I've seen him before, lurking around the opera house…" Philippe stopped as Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. "What? He wasn't a friend of yours, was he?"

"Well, he was a friend of sorts. Old fool ventured down a time too many. Somehow I might miss him anyway." Erik resumed his gaze to the sky.

Philippe grinned sheepishly before walking back toward the door. "Don't forget to come in before the sun comes up," he called before closing the door behind him.

The words barely filtered into Erik's brain before he returned to his own thoughts. Sighing, he knew there was only one cure for what bothered him now and he left the peaceful moonlit roof (all the late season snow had long since melted away) to the waiting keys of his organ.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress comments:** Yes, I killed the Daroga (or Nadir if you go by Kay). -:sheepish look as waves goodbye to the Persian:- 

I'm already working on the next part but I don't know when I'll post next (depends if my muse is out of shape or not). Reviewers get set of Erik and Christine plushies (the kind with the little magnets in them so they kiss)!

**_Love it or hate it, please let me know what you think! _**(just that little square down there in the corner...)


	14. Is it too late?

_Hey everyone! Several of you responded quickly to the last chapter (awww, thanks so much! you guys make me want to keep posting) and so when 13 people reviewed on the thirteenth chapter I figured 'what the heck' and thought I'd update. Well that and a healthy session with my muse meant I had something ready to post. And I was bored. And I'm really excited about what I have planned. Hope you don't mind :)_

_A thousand hugs to reviewers!_

**DragonheartRAB:** actually, Hallmark makes a teddy bear set like that so I can't claim any patents (hey, originality is the art of concealing your sources j/k). Thank you!

**gavvie:** hee hee, little more Philippe today too. and yes, you'll just have to wait and see if Christine's 'mortality status' changes -:grin:- Thank you!

**I am the Angel of Music:** He's gone, sorry. I've always wanted to see the 1925 version but I haven't been able to find it. Does your story make more sense if you've seen it? I'll have to go find out...Thank you!

**VictorianDream:** Gotta love the plushies. :) Thank You!

**Killer Veggies:** Aww shucks. Glad you like it! Thank you!

**Kitty Felone:** Yep, I killed him. More Philippe ahead! (btw, still working on it, misplaced my file for a bit and it's hard to look something over when you can't find it but yeah, problem solved now). Thank you!

**Emmanuelle Lisselle Grey: **I suppose you're right, not a lot really happened in the last one, just some info. I hope this chapter has a little more zing to it! Thank you!

**cm1000:** the plushies are yours, my friend. yeah, a few people seemed to like our goodbuddy the Persian. Thank You!

**phantomgoddess34:** yeah, I think Raoul just gets the short end of the stick, poor guy. Philippe's just got a way about him, doesn't he? ;) Thank You!

**Midnight Tango:** Yay for obsessions! They lead to things like this story! Btw, the fishing idea helped (sugar cookies seem to be my muse's favorite). Thank you!

**Elizabeth:** yummy cyber-cookies...Aww shucks. Thank you so much!

**lazy.kender:** yeah, Nadir's death drew quite a few comments. I never realized his fan base was quite so large. :) Thank You!

**Thereinsidemymind:** Hi there! Heh heh, glad to have caught your attention and thank you very much! (hope this was a soon enough update!)

_Sorry this section is a little shorter but it seemed a logical place to break it (that and the next part just isn't out of my head yet)._

_Take care, everyone. _

* * *

Christine met her gaze in the mirror and stared back into her own red eyes. No matter how many times she searched the mirror, it was still empty. Was she finally going crazy? Seeing things in the mirror, least of all the Phantom of the Opera, was not a promising sign. After finally eradicating the constant pangs of depression in favor for short private moments, she was not willing to step back into that world. It was a joy to see Erik again but, just as she had told him, it was harder once he'd left. 

He looked exactly as Christine remembered: the mask was obviously unchanged, same fierce blue eyes, same well-groomed jet black hair, same rich voice that still spoke in her dreams… Despite how he had died, his spirit still held his same lithe and muscular form, seemingly unmarred. His disposition hadn't exactly changed much either. And what had she expected after leaving him in the dank orifices of the opera house, broken and bleeding?

Christine sighed lightly. Perhaps she was being selfish, trying to wish Erik back again. He was still dead after all; seeing him in a mirror had failed to change that. But she couldn't help but guiltily admit that she wanted to see him again, just for a little while longer.

Sighing yet again, Christine flopped unceremoniously on her bed, ignoring the complaints of the metal springs. Covering her eyes with a free hand, she tried to digest all the new information she'd received. It seemed impossible for one person to have lived such a lonely life; if anyone deserved eternal peace, it was Erik.

Pulling her mind away from discursive thoughts, Christine leaned over and lifted the cover from the tray Ella had brought earlier. Picking absently at a piece of cold chicken, she couldn't help but guiltily blame Ella; had she not chosen that moment to bring her gift, perhaps Erik would still be there. She berated herself once more for selfish thoughts then pulled the covers over her head to fall into a restless sleep.

Eventually succumbing to truth that she could not remain in bed forever, she pulled off the covers and readied herself for a new day. Pulling her cloak closer around face, she braved the fierce winds of the chilly Parisian streets and set about her task.

∞†∞

The afternoon passed slowly for Erik and it seemed no volume in his library could reduce the ennui that threatened to smother his mind. No matter how he tired to convince himself otherwise, his thoughts drifted all too often to Christine who was again proving to be that which he could never entirely forget. And the clock was indeed functioning properly, albeit too slow for his tastes.

"You know, pocket watches don't run any faster if you check them more frequently. The easiest way to speed up time is to twist that little knob on the side and move the hands yourself." Erik rolled his eyes at Philippe's suggestion but didn't falter in his pacing.

It wasn't difficult for Philippe to pinpoint the source of Erik's restlessness and what he intended when the hands of the clock did reach an acceptable hour. "Relax Erik. I assume she'll return to the same room she stayed in last night, I mean all of her stuff is already there and believe me, the gentry enjoy convenience." Philippe watched as Erik continued to march to and fro, sighing at the other man's anxiety. "Sit down. I'm tired just from watching you. Oh, I have an idea: while we're waiting you could fill me in on the details of your _last_ encounter that you've been so reluctant to talk about." His efforts were rewarded with a significant look from under the notorious mask but nothing more. "Fine, fine. Just find something else to occupy yourself. Time will move on eventually."

Philippe returned his attention to his book when Erik again refused to reply though he did seat himself in front of his organ to leaf through several pages…until the thunder of a multitude of hammers provoked his agitation further. After uttering something between a sigh and an angry grunt, Erik stood and seized his lasso as he made his way toward the dark catacombs.

"Wait! You're not going to wreak some havoc without me, are you?" Philippe called as he chased after him.

"I'm feeling nostalgic, a good old fashioned scare I think," Erik threw over his shoulder in a casual tone.

In mock awe, Philippe followed, "You mean I'll have the opportunity to see _the_ Phantom at work?"

"The Phantom of the Opera is dead but ghosts come in many forms. Come."

Philippe quickened his step and nearly lost his footing several times on the clammy stone before light suffused into the tunnel once more. He was nearly out of breath by the time Erik halted long enough in his twisting and climbing route to allow for any sort of rest or conversation.

"So how is it done?" Philippe asked in a stage whisper, still panting slightly.

The corners of Erik's mouth quirked, "You'll see."

Moments later, the frightened screams of men echoed across the acoustically built walls as the workers scrambled over each other, madly racing for the door. Amidst the chaos, two unfortunate men were assumed trampled to death when their comrades finally dared to return and identify their bodies.

Philippe was still laughing merrily when they had returned to the lair, delighted with the scene of pandemonium he had just witnessed. "Ha, I've never seen such superstitious fools and they were grown men! It doesn't take much to send a chill of terror down their spines, now does it?"

"No, I suppose not."

"And look, another hour gone, see? All you had to do was find a worthwhile hobby. I might have to look more into this one myself."

Erik rolled his eyes at Philippe's boyish enthusiasm but would not deny that he rather enjoyed the sport.

After an agonizingly slow afternoon, the sky finally darkened to a bearable level and Erik immediately drew his cloak across his shoulders.

"Don't worry, I won't wait up for you," Philippe called over his book. "Honestly, I don't know why you don't just bring her back here. I'll kidnap a priest and save you the trouble. He can be Christine's first meal after the ceremony."

Erik said nothing, though he had secretly wished it could be so. With a swish of his cape, he shifted into the form of a bat and took off soundlessly into the sky.

After a brief but enjoyable flight, Erik soon found himself in front of Christine's inn as his anxiety returned tenfold. Melting into a shadow in front of her window, Erik slid under the broken frame and, after assuring himself that the room was empty, solidified into human form again.

His sharp ears detected a mighty ruckus in the hallway and he calmly stepped into the mirror. The tip of his cape had just swished in behind him as the door burst open. Seconds later, two men struggled with the great mass of the finest marble money could buy and set down their heavy burden where Christine had directed them, a few feet from the mirror. The men wiped their brows and stretched strained muscles while Christine thanked the two of them profusely and paid them what looked a well-deserved amount before dismissing them.

Christine struggled with the piece briefly, angling it so she could read the inscription better. Erik glanced over her shoulder and read Philippe's name etched in the stone along with a few endearing words. Christine stood and glanced at the mirror as she walked by; her face instantly brightened.

"Erik! You came back!"

"I wanted to see you again," he replied honestly as he hid his smile at her obvious delight.

She faced the mirror fully; her soft eyes glimmered with restrained tears stemmed from her relief. "I was afraid you'd left me for good. I don't want to lose you again, Erik. I missed you. I love you."

Erik froze in place; this meeting was moving more differently than he could have ever guessed. Surely his ears were deceiving him; such an elegant woman as Christine, a child who walked in the light of day, could not have said such words to a man condemned to live as an unearthly demon. He must have heard wrong, though he could not deny the hope that swelled in his chest that perhaps his dreams were not so impossible as he'd forced himself to believe. "W-what did you say?" Erik asked in a quiet tone, slightly disgusted that he could not maintain a mask of nonchalance nor rid his voice of tremors.

Christine's face shifted from a content smile to an expression of concern. "What's wrong, Erik?"

"Nothing's wrong," he assured her hastily, though with his voice more controlled. "What did you say?"

"I said I love you, Erik," she replied in a soft voice. "I only wish that I could have told you when you were alive. It's too late now." Tears accumulated in her eyes once more but she made no movement to impede the gentle flow down her smooth cheeks. "I should have told you. I was just so confused…" Christine broke off and averted her gaze to the tombstone once more.

Attempting to allow his reeling mind a moment to regain itself and further fight the temptation to leave the mirror in order to consol her or just to hold her, Erik changed the subject: "Was that stone the reason you came to town?"

She nodded and closed her eyes, not trusting her voice nor finding anything worth saying.

"Does that mean you'll be leaving?"

Christine shook her head. "I don't see why I'd have to leave yet. Raoul," Erik grimaced slightly at the name, "doesn't expect me back for another few days. I can enjoy Paris for a little while longer." She quieted again before hesitantly asking a question: "Erik, is it possible for you to visit with me at the de Chagny estate?"

"I doubt that your fiancé would welcome my presence there."

"I suppose you're right. It was silly to ask."

A thick layer of silence settled over the room once more as both mulled over several thoughts, broken only by an ungainly THUD as the gravestone succumbed to gravity and toppled over. Christine knelt down and struggled to right the cumbersome rock and succeeded after smashing a few delicate fingers. When she turned back to the mirror, her gaze fell upon a red rose fitted with a black ribbon—a prize he'd kept safely in his jacket pocket, seemingly no worse for the wear—now sitting on the table.

"Erik, how did you do that?" she asked automatically.

"Christine, do you really love me?" War raged with Erik, reason versus hope.

"Yes, Erik. I do," she answered seriously, though confused.

He said nothing for a moment until hope won out and he made a rash decision. "Perhaps it is not too late, Christine."

∞†∞

The endless plodding of hoof-beats finally slowed as Raoul neared the city of Paris, speckled by the fires of hundreds of streetlamps. It was still early evening and he reasoned that perhaps he could surprise Christine then discuss his new resolution over dinner. She would be so proud that he was improving; the thought created a grin across his face as he urged the driver to hurry to the inn Christine had written of in her letter upon arrival in the city. In minutes, he would be with his fiancée again.

∞†∞

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Dun dun duh! 

Oh, by the way, support group meeting for Nadir's death will be held next Thursday for those of you that need it. ;)

I sorta doubt I can keep up an updating speed like this but hey I'll put up the next part once I get it written. I just hope that my muse will hold out here. -:readies another offering of sweets:-

Free Membership to the Erik & Philippe Fan Club for reviewers (Members recieve autographed poster and limited edition Philippe plushie with the trademark grin amongst other fabulous benefits)!

**_Love it or hate it, please let me know what you think!_** (just a minute with that little square down at the bottom there to make me eternally happy for now)


	15. Three's a Crowd, Four's a Mess

_Let's start with this as I keep on forgeting to put it: Nope, still don't own the original characters though the plot is MINE -:places story in laser-guarded vault:- (I hope no one would steal it but hey, lasers are kinda cool if nothing else). Kudos to Leroux and Webber. _

_Hey everyone! I suppose quite a few of you have heard rumors about the impending "no more shout-outs to reviewers" rule so I guess I'll quit that until I've had confirmation one way or the other. Though I will say I love you all! Welcome new people, welcome back ol' buddies. You rock my world! And that encouragement really keeps me going! Thanks a million! -:hug:-_

_Okie dokie, there's a lot going on in this chunky. Sorry it took me a bit to get it out; all my friends are going off to college (Knox doesn't start till Sept. 3) so I've been trying to cram in time with them before they go. That and (for those of you who were **dying** for some E/C interaction) I've been trying to get it right... we'll see how it goes... hope you like it... :)_

* * *

Christine's eyes widened slightly as she drew closer to the mirror's glossy surface. When she was near enough, Erik reached around her reflection and allowed his hand to emerge from the mirror just enough to grasp her hand. Erik pulled himself further from the face of the mirror and laid a gentle kiss on the back of her hand and her bruised fingers before releasing her to return to the safety of the mirror. He tried to gauge her reaction but shock had claimed her senses. Erik leapt from the mirror just as Christine's eyes started to roll back in her head and she wilted to the floor. 

"Christine!" Erik took her crumpled form and set her gently on the bed, glancing around sharply for an answer to his predicament and furious with himself for scaring her as he did. His gaze met a pitcher on the bedside table and Erik lightly flecked droplets of water onto Christine's unconscious face. After a few moments, her eyelids flickered and she moaned softly before opening her eyes fully.

"Erik…" she breathed as she sat up sharply.

Hushing her gently, Erik tenderly pushed Christine back to the bed: "It's alright, Christine."

"I thought you were dead, Erik. I thought you were dead," she whispered brokenly. Christine groped about lightly with her hand until it met his and she squeezed it gently to reassure herself of his presence. "Why did you not come to me?"

"I did not know how I would be received. You left me once, Christine; I could not bear such a loss again."

"And the mirror? How did you do that?"

"That's not important now," Erik evaded quickly. "You need to rest."

"I'll be fine in just a moment," Christine murmured as she sat up and this time Erik made no move to stop her. He sat on the edge of the bed arguing internally with his emotions for several minutes while Christine studied him.

Finally she broke the silence with a small trickle of the flood of questions saturating her thoughts: "How did you escape the fire?"

"There is more than one secret passage built into those walls and I know each of them, some I believe are known only to me. The Phantom was only seen when he wished to be seen."

"And the man they claimed was you?"

Erik shrugged, "I don't know who he was."

Instinctively, Christine crossed herself before continuing, "Why did you pretend it was you?"

"They stopped searching for me, did they not?"

Christine thought for a brief moment before nodding, understanding some of this logic. "So…so what have you been doing since then?"

"Much of the same routine as I had perfected before, save for the most rewarding part of my day. The Opera Populaire is empty, despite all those carpenters and masons, without your song and your laughter to make the gold glint with hidden glory, to make the chandelier shimmer with earned pride, and all those with working ears stop in awe."

She blushed at his flattery, scarcely noticing that Erik now held both of her hands in her own. Averting her gaze, she took in the sight and relished at how neatly his long elegant fingers gently encompassed her hands.

"I still can't believe you are here, sitting next to me. I've dreamed it, I've prayed for it…" Christine's already hushed voice broke off as she looked again into the piercing eyes she had searched for so fervently for weeks after she had forsaken him and the same eyes that she thought could only be seen in her dreams.

Erik didn't need to say anything as he pulled her close and she relished in the comfort of his arms and his own intoxicating scent as she snuggled closer to his chest, heaving a contented sigh. Christine did not know how long she stayed in the arms of a man other than her fiancée, but she sent a silent prayer of thanks that it was real. Erik absently stroked through her curls, more relaxed than she had thought possible. Then she felt something fall into her hair; the first two tears she shook off as a figment of her imagination but the sudden pressure of the third drop caused her to look up.

"Should this be a dream, I would drive a silver stake through my own heart."

Though she thought his choice of masochism odd, she made to instantly reassure him stating, "Erik, I'm here," as she placed her hand on the exposed cheek. With a slightly trembling hand, he reached up and set his hand over hers, eyes still twinkling brilliantly in the candlelight but now with the added luster of unshed tears that were growing still more difficult to hold at bay.

Further ignoring his better reason, Erik leaned forward and captured her willing lips with his own desperate need. His free arm snaked around her waist as hers stretched around his neck, pulling each other closer and effectively sealing the distance between them. Months of ache and longing erased in moments as the couple sought to satiate the murderous hunger for the other's touch. Erik hardly noticed as his mask fell askew until it was bumped again by the force of a ferocious kiss; he withdrew his arm from Christine's side in order to straighten it…only to have his hand stopped by Christine. She drew away slightly as Erik met her gaze with a questioning glance, her lips swollen slightly and her cheeks flushed a sweet rose pink. He made to adjust his mask again only to have Christine gently pull his arm down. Reaching with her own hand, Erik watched silently as she removed the mask and placed it aside. Christine then returned his gaze with a shy coquettish grin that seemed to say "it was in the way, anyway" before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him thoroughly. Erik recovered from his shock and responded with equal frenzy.

"Do you love me, Christine?" he asked, still savoring her taste.

She rested her head against his chest. "Yes, Erik. I love you. I'm yours."

Erik closed his eyes as another wave of emotions—relief, joy, desire, and several others he didn't care to decipher now—drowned out all rational thought again as Christine raised her head and laid a soft kiss on his marred cheek.

"I have always loved you, Christine," he whispered before meeting her eyes with a gaze that spoke more than what Erik felt he could ever give justice to. Then he pulled her close to kiss her again.

Erik broke away from exploring Christine's mouth and trailed light kisses down her jaw as she sighed contentedly. Her skin quivered under his touch, enthralling him more each moment of contact. He continued feverishly down her neck and nipped lightly on her skin. She moaned lightly and ran her fingers through his hair and down his back, encouraging him further. He bit down harder and her taste, her conscious raced through his mind…he didn't fully realize his actions until Christine cried out.

He jolted away from her as she fell back heavily to sit on the bed, eyes wide and accusing. Christine raised a hand to her neck, applying pressure to the bleeding wound.

"Erik! Why did you do that?" she demanded in a shaking voice.

Erik unconsciously licked his lips, picking up the last few droplets of blood, but made no explanations. He took a few steps forward, stretching out his hand. Christine shrank away slightly but Erik merely laid a hand over her own. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he backed away against the wall.

Christine lifted her hand to examine the wound…only to find that it had sealed itself. Erik grimaced at the look of dawning realization that sprung to Christine's face, slowly draining of color.

"It was you!" she screeched. "You were the thing in the alley that night!"

Erik sighed and nodded.

"What the hell are you?"

He was spared the trouble of answering as their attention was drawn toward a series of sounds from the hallway.

Outside the door, a familiar voice spoke, "Thank you for showing me the room Madame Ella. I'll call you if we need anything more." The door handle shook ominously as Erik reached for his mask and Christine's face took a different sort of panic. Raoul stepped through the doorway with a large bouquet of assorted flowers.

"Raoul! What a surprise," Christine managed after a moment, all too aware that she was caught with another man in the room and guilt threatened to choke her from within. _How did I allow this to happen? How could I just…forget…Raoul?_ Hundreds of self-damning questions raced through her mind as she tried to put on a smile that would satisfy her fiancée.

"I thought about what you said after you left. You were right Christine; Philippe wouldn't want me to mope around the house. I've got to get out and live my life…with you." He grinned sweetly at the thought then turned back to Christine, finally noticing her discomfort: "I thought you'd be happy. Is something wrong, Christine?" His smile faltered slightly when she didn't answer immediately and instead shifted where she sat.

Then Raoul noticed the other presence in the room: "You!" He stood gaping like a breathless cod for a few moments until anger twisted his face. "I thought we were rid of you! What are you doing in _my fiancé's_ room?" He glared at Erik only to have it returned by a piercing gaze. Raoul sneered, furious at Erik's lack of response, and snatched Christine's arm, yanking her behind him. "Leave now," he ordered through gritted teeth, all with much more bravery than he felt once he met those savage blue eyes again.

Erik took a few steps forward, the nonchalance of his gait betrayed by his emotion-bearing eyes all the same, as Raoul forced Christine further back to retain the distance. "Stay w-where you are!" Raoul ordered; though he felt cowardly for mentally shrinking under Erik's gaze, he tried to make the appearance of standing his ground while Christine shot worried looks between both men, at a complete loss.

BAM!

The trio momentarily forgot their current situation, all focus drawn to the broken window that now rested on the floor, still in its frame.

"Blasted thing," muttered Philippe as he dusted himself off and stepped into the room. His ubiquitous smirk reappeared and he asked Erik, "Why didn't you do that before? Maybe you wouldn't have gotten stuck here the first time."

Erik gave a barely discernable shrug.

Philippe glanced around the room and caught sight of his brother. Raoul's eyes seemed close to bursting from his skull as his face turned a sickly shade. Christine merely stared over his shoulder, another shock added to one of the strangest nights of her life.

"Ah, little brother. Been staying out of trouble, have we? Or have you been off terrorizing the poor cook again? You know she's awfully superstitious," Philippe drawled as Raoul made another fantastic impression of a breathless cod. "And dear Christine, how nice to see you again." Philippe grinned in a mildly malevolent manner or rather, in other words, smiled so as to reveal his fangs.

Christine had had enough; she fell to the floor with a small THUD. Raoul didn't seem to notice as, though he had closed his mouth, he was breathing in a rather panicked manner. Erik was immediately at her side and took her limp form over to the bed once more. Raoul's eyes followed his brother as Philippe walked over to Erik.

"I suppose it's been a stressful night for her, judging by what I saw when I came in," he stated seriously as Erik flecked small droplets of water on to Christine's face in an effort to revive her. She stirred moments later, though she looked as though she wished she hadn't.

"Philippe?" Raoul questioned in a small voice.

"Yes, Raoul," Philippe said in an exasperated tone. "Mind working a bit slower than usual today? Or do you need your eyes checked again?"

"I thought you were dead."

"Well that was what you were _supposed_ to think. But really all in all it is somewhat true, so don't worry too much; you're not absolutely crazy at least."

"But…" Raoul seemed unable to form his question, still registering what he was actually seeing, and trailed off, sitting heavily on the floor as if his knees could no longer support him.

"Did you need something?" Erik inquired coldly, still seated next to the bed as Christine looked around warily.

"Yes actually. We need to leave. The Circle calls," Philippe related tonelessly.

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Where are we going?"

"Where the Circle always meets."

He didn't bother asking Philippe for more clarification, as rushed as he seemed. Erik's eyes fell back to Christine.

"There's no time for that, Erik! We have to get as far as we can before sunrise."

Regretfully, Erik rose from Christine's side and leaned down to kiss her forehead before joining Philippe.

"Oh, one more thing before we go," Philippe said lightly, then shifted into a malevolent tone as he turned to Raoul and Christine: "Tell no one what you saw or heard this evening." Philippe didn't have to finish with a threat; a different dark anger that Erik had never seen on his friend before crossed his features, effectively terrifying the two mortals more than any threat. He turned again to Erik, back to his jovial self. "So, shall we go?"

Erik nodded as both men elegantly shifted into glossy-coated bats and, with one last look back, flew off into the night sky, leaving Raoul and Christine stunned in their wake.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress ramblings:** How's that for an evening? Yikes. Everyone place your bets: which character is going to need the most therapy?. :) 

I've thought of several clichéd places for the Circle to meet so we'll get to see what they want relatively soon (I hope); stay tuned!

Free Membership to the Erik & Philippe Fan Club to reviewers! Glow-in-the-dark vampire fangs at the door. This week is "Free shot at the Fop week" for all current and new members. :)

Take care, all. :)


	16. Skipping Town

_Hey everyone! _

_Sorry it's been a while since I've updated but I've only just finished writing this part today; college has been busy as all get out, what with orientation and hanging out with new people and all, but oh so much fun. Knox College is awesome! (yeah, we'll see if I still love it once the real homework starts -:smirk:-) I've also been working on an original fic and a one-shot for labyrinth but anyway...my excuses are sorta beside the point. _

_A thousand hugs to reviewers! Still not sure about that new rule restricting reviewer responses but I will say again that you guys rock my world and make me want to keep writing even when I feel like strangling my muse in my impatience. Thanks so much to everyone still sticking around, those of you who come back, and welcome all newcomers. (I Am the Angel of Music, you were right; I screwed up the fiance/fiancee a few times. thanks for catching that). Glad most of you enjoyed "Free Shot at the Fop" for that matter. :)_

_This chapter isn't quite as "action packed" so to say as the last was...especially since I was just really pleased with the last chapter...hopethis oneturns out okay anyway..._

* * *

Madame Giry sat down to tea with her daughter and sipped nervously. 

"Meg, I'm sure he'll be here any moment. Will you stop fidgeting? Relax, my dear."

Meg made an abashed grin but it seemed impossible to comply with such a request. "How can I relax? The Baron will be here soon."

As if caused by the remark, the doorbell rang and Meg instantly sprang from her chair. Then she seemed to reconsider and sat back down trying to appear nonchalant lest she gave herself away all too easily. Her mother sighed as she took another sip of her tea as the servant met their guest at the door. Moments later, even longer to the eager Meg who was smiling in an alluring fashion, Renald opened the door to the sitting room and allowed their guest in.

Meg's face fell slightly as she realized that it was not her suitor but she recovered quickly to give her best friend a hug. "Christine! So good to see you again."

Christine returned her friend's greeting, grateful that at least her journey had afforded her time with the Giry's. "I'm sorry to drop in on you."

"Nonsense," Mme Giry put in immediately. "You are always welcome here, Christine. You know that."

"But still…"

"No. I will hear no more of it. Perhaps if you stay long enough today, you can meet Meg's _dear_ Baron, as we've taken to calling him."

Christine turned to Meg for confirmation and saw it plainly writ on her face. She smiled but continued sadly. "I'm afraid I can't stay for long. I only came to say goodbye. You see, Raoul came to town last night and—"

"Oh! Raoul's in town? I should love to see the Vicomte again," Meg piped in.

"Meg, why don't you run to the kitchen and see if you can find Aleis? Ask her for small snack, perhaps?" Mme Giry suggested, taking notice of the dark circles under Christine's eyes.

Meg readily complied with her mother's request and left the room, anything to kind her mind occupied. Mme Giry turned back to Christine, "Is something wrong, my dear?"

"Yes and no. I just had to get out of the hotel room. Raoul has been babbling nonsense and driving me insane all night since…" Christine left the rest of her thought uncompleted as she stared off in another direction.

"Since what, Christine?"

"I can't tell you that."

Mme Giry's eyebrows rose but she did not press her any further.

"Is everything alright between you and Raoul?" she asked tentatively.

"I suppose so. Everything is so confusing now."

"You suppose so?"

"Yes," Christine confirmed, again failing to elaborate as she averted her gaze, this time to her hands where she was wringing her fingers anxiously.

"You're not certain?" Mme Giry continued, still flummoxed. She recalled her manners and poured tea for her guest. Then an idea struck her, "Raoul isn't fooling around with other women is he, Christine? He wouldn't cheat on you, would he?"

Christine nearly dropped the offered cup as dark tea sloshed to the carpet. She made to immediately dive down and attack the stain but was halted by the hand of Mme Giry as she murmured her apologies. After she had again settled in her chair, robbed of the distraction, she replied, "no, not that I know of."

She shifted guiltily under Mme Giry's scrutinizing gaze. "Christine, you didn't do something, did you?"

Christine bit her lip and nodded slightly.

It was uncomfortably silent for a few moments until Meg came bursting through the door. "Aleis says she'll have something fresh here in a few minutes. Has the Baron arrived yet?" Both Mme Giry and Christine tried to act as if nothing was wrong and Meg was far too distracted to see through such fragile masks.

"No, not yet my dear. Do you think we would sit here talking to him without telling you?"

Meg looked slightly abashed yet continued to fidget like a five year old with a full bladder.

"For heaven's sake, Meg. At least make yourself useful and fetch Marie. Tell her we've had a bit of a spill."

As soon as Meg dashed out of the room, Mme Giry's eyes rounded on Christine, fixed in a well-perfected gaze that all children fear, the look that reads "you're not going anywhere until you explain."

Christine sighed. "I-I kissed another man."

"I'm surprised at you, Christine," Mme Giry chastised as gently as possible. "I thought you cared more about Raoul. Does he know?"

"I'm not sure. He might have guessed but I doubt he would blame me…"

"What do you mean? Who would make you just forget the consequences?"

"Erik." Christine immediately clamped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide as she tried to gauge Mme Giry's reaction.

Instead of rebuking her further, Mme Giry sat back in her chair with a stony expression etched into her face.

"I-is something wrong, Madame Giry?" Christine asked tentatively, unconsciously rubbing her neck.

The action was not lost on Mme Giry and she promptly inquired, "Did something happen to your neck, my dear?" Though Christine denied any discomfort, Mme Giry ground her teeth, well-knowing what had happened.

"I don't know how it happened. I've just missed him so much and—"

Mme Giry raised a hand to hush her; out in the hallway, Meg's light footsteps accompanied with her light voice chatting to the maid. In a rushed voice, Mme Giry whispered, "Don't explain to me. Perhaps you should be discussing this with Raoul. If Erik comes to see you again, let me know immediately. Do you understand?" Christine nodded, eyes widening once more. "Be careful, Christine."

Mme Giry sat back in her chair once more and Christine slowly followed suit, eyes still wary, as Meg burst through the door once more. After recovering herself once more, Christine mentioned, "I ought to be heading back to the inn to help finish packing and see everything loaded up. I don't think Raoul is going to be much help."

"What makes you say that, Christine?" Meg asked curiously.

"Oh, he had a long night last night. Travel and all."

"Are you sure you must leave now? If you stay another few minutes you'll be able to meet the Baron."

"I'd love to Meg. I really would but I need to be heading home. It's a long drive."

"Alright," Meg allowed, glumly. "But you are still invited to come with us to Rome in two weeks."

Christine sighed, knowing full well that any protests would be stomped down by Meg's kind and eager spirit. She left the Giry household leaving Madame Giry with murderous thoughts, Meg slightly disappointed (though it was quickly forgotten in her anticipation once more), and herself all the more confused…especially when she considered that Madame Giry accepted her word that Erik (or some form of him) lived on without any contest or hint of disbelief.

∞†∞

The next evening, Erik again transformed and followed Philippe without question or comment. Philippe himself was markedly silent and even resisted the urge to tease, concerned with the Circle's summons—something not to be taken lightly be anyone, least of all, two so recently sired—and mulling over the previous night's events for himself; he thought it rather amusing to see Raoul again though all other emotions on the matter were muddled.

Erik flew through the sky with a perfunctory attitude, too distracted to enjoy the thrill and simple bliss of the breeze fluttering though his fur and past his face. Christine was proving yet again to be a subject not easily forgotten. As he thought back on his first love, the woman who had given him his first kiss, he could play back every moment of his second kiss…

Then he had lost control. Each tiny movement she had made and all that she had said…no, he had no excuse for taking advantage of her exposed neck. _Perhaps I should have found another man in the stocks beforehand_, he mused bitterly. Everything was progressing better than he had ever allowed himself to believe possible yet he had ruined his chance once again with a lack of control. Erik knew his fate was sealed when her eyes lit with understanding; she was furious and justly so. Could she forgive this sort of crime?

"_Yes, Erik. I love you. I'm yours."_

She said she loved him; such words he never thought could be true for a creature such as himself.

"…_I'm yours."_

Erik breathed in sharply as realization struck him…then he grasped that he was no longer flying though the air but falling; the shock had broken his concentration and he was in human form once more, tumbling toward the earth. He somersaulted twice before stopping solidly, feet sprawled out before him. _Was that an offer? Did I just complete the second criteria? What have I done? _

From the overcast sky above, Philippe screeched before landing on his feet next to Erik, restored to his normal form. "I just don't understand it," he commented, disbelievingly. "How can you be _graceful_ when you're falling out of the sky? I would have ended up with a mouthful of grass or in a creek with some vicious turtle gnawing at my fingers."

Erik said nothing as he stood and dusted himself off.

Philippe regarded Erik coolly. "You should have been able to keep form for another hour at least, anything you want to talk about?" he offered in a sincere voice.

"Not in particular." Erik's tone booked no room for argument as he began to walk down the road adjacent to the grassy hill on which he'd landed.

"Hey, where are you going?" Philippe called after Erik. "Off to grab a bite or something? Otherwise you're going the wrong way. And I don't think anyone in that village is going to have the right directions, not that you'd ever ask for them."

"Something to eat would be good," Erik replied, attempting to mask the results of his revelation as fatigue.

Philippe grinned. "Alright. What's your flavor tonight?"

Erik rolled his eyes half-heartedly and barely noticed his kill (a curious maiden who had the misfortune to be about too late in the evening unaccompanied), preferring to dwell in his thoughts and determined to make some sense of them. The pair retained silence as they took off into the sky once more, refreshed and satiated with new blood. Erik's mind began to wander off his cognitive path yet he still managed to return to the path he had so thoroughly carved with his repetitive mental footsteps.

After another indefinite amount of time, Philippe landed with a few fumbling steps onto the ground and resumed walking. "We'll need to conserve our energy for now, possibly look for a place to stay unless you'd like a rather severe sunburn."

"Philippe, where are we going?"

"I told you before, where the Circle always meets."

Erik sighed loudly, having little patience after a long night and finding little resolution with his thoughts. "So where does the Circle always meet?"

"Wherever it damn-well pleases."

"Can't you give me a straight answer?"

"You're just not asking the right questions."

Erik clenched and unclenched his fingers, making the leather of his gloves groan. "To what city and or country are we going to for this blasted meeting?" he asked through clenched teeth, his patience slipping further and further away.

"Ah, actually I really don't know." Philippe grinned back at the murderous glare blazing from Erik's eyes. "We just have to wait for a sign. It'll come soon enough."

"Brilliant, a sign," Erik muttered, still not at all pleased with the responses he was receiving. "I'd ask what sort of a sign but I doubt you'd give me the answers I'm looking for anyhow."

"Ah, you're learning fast." Philippe shrugged and resumed a cheeky smirk, "I had to make up for those few hours of relative quiet."

Though sincerely doubting Philippe's assertion, Erik said nothing. Philippe sat down in the grass. "By boat or by land, which way are those stuffy shirts going to send us? It's a tough call," Philippe stated as he sat down heavily on the grass. He glanced toward Erik who was still standing, mask reflecting the glow of the sliver of moon left in the sky, "May as well rest. We'll either need to find unquestioning transportation from that small port or likely down the road." He gestured to the landmarks with a careless hand.

"How can you be sure that we have not been going the wrong way for the past two nights?" Erik asked with an edge.

"Well they had to talk to me initially, now didn't they? Frankly I'm surprised that they didn't attempt to contact you as well, since the summons concerned both of us," Philippe mused. "Hmmm… strange."

Erik turned away from Philippe, glancing at the shapes formed in the clouds but not really focusing on anything.

The next moment, he was knocked flat on his back as an unseen force slammed into his conscious. He scrambled to right himself but was flung back once more as another series of images and sensations forced their way into his skull in a sudden and fierce surge. A bright flash without a source filled his vision and scorched a picture into his memory. He sat back on the grass, supporting himself with his arms.

"One hell of a sign, isn't it?"

Erik nodded dumbly, still willing his eyes to refocus and the afterimages to fade.

"So, where are we going?"

Erik closed his eyes and tried to order the images, searching for a definite landmark. A few of the pictures resembled structures he'd seen in his books of famous architecture. "We're going to Rome."

"Are you sure?"

Erik merely gave Philippe a gaze that read a scornful "yes, as if I would be wrong."

"Alright, by sea it is then. Don't know why they chose somewhere so far off. It's not like they couldn't manage anywhere closer, I'm sure. Meh, it's the Circle, maybe they just wanted to show off. It's hard to say."

"So how are we going to get there?"

"Find a boat where they won't ask too many questions and don't expect us to take tea with the captain out on deck. Somewhere less than respectable but more than rundown scoundrels, I mean the boat still has to float at least."

"By sea, though?"

"Well, there will be a considerable amount of flying but for the time being, let's account for some of the litter in the oceans and take a cruise. You can sail, though, can't you? If we happen to overeat?"

Erik shook his head again.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress Ramblings:** yep, we're headed off to Rome...or rather just sorta close to Rome...I have it mostly figured out, I think but I really ought to do some more research on it.

My hope is that we'll get to the first glance of the Circle next time... let's see where my muse decides to go...

This week's Erik & Philippe fan club (free membership to reviewers) activity: Signing lessons with Erik (be the diva of your dreams!) and Charm lessons with Philippe (who will likely just spend the time period chatting amiably away with those who show up).

Take care everyone! Until next time...


	17. Traveling and Waiting, in Turn

_The usual: Yep, don't own Phantom of the Opera...wouldn't that be grand:stares wistfully off into the distance:_

_Hey everyone! Anyone in the mood for an update? Gah, I'm sorry it's been so long; I was computer-less for about two weeks making both assignments and fun writing very difficult (especially as my most up to date versions of my stories were only saved on my laptop). Stupid defective parts...Erik's battery died and his AC adapter wasn't working. Had to read all of The Autobiography of Malcolm X in a very short period, too, which although interesting cut a lot of my free time. Uber-sorry for the wait. _

_OMG! I can't believe this story is on 41 favorites pages! I love you all, even those I've never heard from. And I'm almost to 200 reviews when my "what-if? goal" was only 100. A hundred hugs to all reviewers (Philippe and Erik enjoyed teaching:wink:). You guys make my day. _

_I didn't go into much description of Rome, a) I didn't get to do as much research as I would have liked and b) you can imagine all the sights yourself this way. Furthermore, I didn't put any Italian in (though I did think about it) because I don't trust online translators. Hope it will be alright away..._

_First glimpse of the Circle in this one! Hope you like it..._

* * *

**Three Weeks Later**

The journey had been tedious and although Erik and Philippe had arrived safely they had yet to receive further word of where to head next. Secretly, Erik was wary on receiving another sign but after a few nights, he was ready to move on. The architecture had been more than he could have expected though he regretted never being able to enjoy the wonders presented in the sun. It was almost tragic.

"I don't see what's so bloody interesting about these statues and such. You keep looking at the same buildings. They have changed in a few hundred years; I don't think they'll change overnight."

Erik cringed; _of course, there were some things a little more tragic_. Biting back a remark of "uncultured swine" toward his companion, Erik walked down the empty street and gazed at the Vatican as Philippe tried to keep up with his brisk pace. Every time he had tried to approach the building, a strange queasiness would erupt in his stomach and remained until he was an agreeable distance away. It seemed wrong to take his meal near such a holy place, though Philippe felt no such unease and seemed that he would take the priest in a confessional if given half a chance.

Erik stopped walking and stared at the moon again as Philippe caught up, slapping him on the back.

"What's your hurry? It's not like we've gotten any direction yet. Relax, you've been tense since we left France," Philippe drawled.

Erik acknowledged internally that Philippe was right as he watched a couple pass by, arm in arm.

Philippe couldn't help but notice: "Are you still pining away for Christine? Honestly, you haven't scarcely cracked a smile in three weeks, not that you did a lot of smiling before that come to think of it. Get over it. Enjoy Rome."

Erik had had enough of Philippe's comments, building since they'd left, and rounded on him: "Get over it? Get over Christine? Why don't you get over Adele?"

The smile plummeted off of Philippe's face and was replaced with an ugly scowl. Before he could make an angry outburst he suddenly fell backward, with a dazed look. He tried to stand a couple times, but each instance he seemed to be kicked by an invisible boot in the gut. Erik watched curiously and noticed several other pairs of watching eyes, despite the late hour. They glanced suspiciously at Erik, eyeing his mask and silently noting that it wasn't time for carnival.

"I say, is he alright?" an English gentleman, judging by the accent, spoke up next to him.

"He'll be fine. Just a conniption, it'll pass."

"Is that normal?" the woman on the gentleman's arm asked gently.

"For him, yes. He'll be fine," he related impassively. Though looking as though they were far from reassured, the couple left and slowly the tiny crowd dispersed. Finally Philippe regained his breath and stood on shaky feet. Still resentful, Philippe shrugged off Erik's assistance and started to walk off on his own.

After a block or two in silence, Philippe asked in a tone haughtier than his normal lightheartedness, "Well, aren't you going to ask where we're going?"

"You'd tell me eventually."

"Hmmm…I didn't think you were one for patience. Anyway we have to wait another week."

"Another week?"

"Well, a few days. For the next moon." Erik reflected for a moment, he'd truly been a vampire for nearly two months now, all of Philippe's early tutelage mixed in with late night intrigues and the ever-present thoughts of Christine. "Then there's some place on the outskirts of town, some old amphitheater or something."

They resumed silence and made it back to their hotel that didn't ask questions.

"Oh and Erik," Philippe turned around with another frown, "Don't speak of Adele again." They glared at each other for a moment, Philippe to convey his point and Erik to affirm that he would not be intimidated. Eventually, Philippe rolled his eyes and the left corner of his mouth twitched up. "Alright, truce? I never was one to win staring contests; I'd either start laughing or cheat."

Erik shook the offered hand then entered his room without replying. In some regards, Philippe was right, he had been moping more than he ought. Disgusted with himself, Erik wished briefly that he had his organ at his fingertips to vent his rage and frustration yet the closest thing nearby (short of breaking into a church) was an out-of-tune twanging piano. He pulled out the stopper in a bottle of wine and poured a meager amount; taking a sip, he grimaced knowing that nothing could satisfy like that of a fresh kill. The first bars of sunlight were stretching across the sky and Erik roughly yanked the heavy curtains to block the offensive beams.

After this blasted meeting with the Circle, what then? Could he ever show his ghastly face to Christine again?

∞†∞

Yanking the cover over the window, Christine settled back into the plush seating of the coach. She was tired of traveling and longed for a few minutes alone, just to be able to hear her own thoughts.

"I wish you would tell me what's troubling you, Christine."

She glanced at her fiancé as he spoke, noting for the hundredth times the new additions to his daily attire. First, the crucifix that hung from his neck she would have ordinarily approved of had it not been larger than her head and one of the gaudiest things she had ever seen. He kept a clove of garlic in his pocket and the bulb stuck out in an odd manner. Protruding from another pocket was a vial of what the peddler had sworn was holy water since Raoul did not feel confident asking a priest personally, knowing full well where his claim would have landed him. Furthermore, a book about the legend of vampires sat upside-down, opened to some page or another. She didn't even want to consider what baubles he had packed in his suitcase.

When she said nothing, he continued, "I told you not to worry about that demon. I've taken steps to make sure he can never harm us. I'll hunt him down and stake his putrid heart myself, have no fear. Then we shall free my brother's soul from his spell."

Not for the first time since Erik had left that night, Christine thought to herself, _Raoul has gone off the deep end._ She averted her gaze back to the now covered window.

Raoul placed a hand on her chin and she turned to face him. "I'm really worried about you Christine. You've scarcely eaten anything lately and you haven't gone outdoors in so long…"

"I'm fine, Raoul."

"Perhaps it was that meat at the last inn. I told you to send it back; it was far too raw, practically alive."

"Really, Raoul, I'm fine."

"I think this trip will be good for you, a change of scenery so you can just forget that monster. So nice of the Baron Castelo-Barbezac to invite me as well. I daresay him and Meg seem to be growing very close now don't they?"

Christine nodded and then resumed staring at nothing. How did she let herself get talked into these things? Raoul had insisted that they leave Paris moments after Erik and Philippe left and it had taken plenty of convincing just to get him to wait until morning. Then the Giry's again insisted that both she and Raoul join them on a visit to Rome with the Baron, the others traveling in a second coach for now. From the time between trips, Raoul had jumped at nearly every snapped twig or creaking stair before setting about to protect himself. He could labor under whatever delusions of the event he chose; at least he hadn't asked what had happened before he'd arrived.

Her fair knight had turned into a coward and again she missed the dragon's presence…even if he had possibly just set fire to some village. She still wasn't sure how she felt about Erik's new skills, not that all of his abilities were honest. Christine just knew that she needed to talk to him, though it seemed she was moving further and further away…

∞†∞

"Are we there yet?"

"How should I know? You're the one who had the vision."

Philippe shrugged. "Still, it's always fun to annoy you."

Erik sighed and rolled his eyes though he was somewhat relieved; Philippe had been increasingly distant the past few days and though his companion's quirks were often highly annoying, his darker moods were much less tolerable.

Philippe stopped walking and tilted his head, glancing somewhere west of where they were. Erik, after nearly colliding with Philippe, looked with curiosity etched into his visible features. The bemused look on Philippe's face slowly filtered to disbelief then a strange smile.

"Interesting. Interesting indeed." Glancing at Erik, his smirk deepened. "Erik, you didn't complete the second criteria for a blood union, now did you?"

Whatever Erik had been expecting, it was far from that. The arms that had crossed over his chest fell disbelievingly to his sides, limp as he stared at Philippe, momentarily distracted from maintaining his façade of emotionlessness.

"Oh, come now," Philippe teased, "you're starting to look like my brother." Erik was about to reply but realized that he was indeed standing with his jaw slack and shut it hastily before composing himself.

"How-how did you know that?"

Philippe only grinned anew. "It was very faint at first, I mean I couldn't even tell it was her, but it's gotten stronger."

"What is? How do you know?" Erik asked eagerly, now fully intrigued.

"The same way I know that Sebastian is over that hill." Philippe turned from Erik and called out, "Oy! Sebastian! Quit hiding and get down here."

Moments later, a dark shadow slithered along the ground and congealed to form a man in front of two of them. Of a figure somewhere between lean and pudgy, Sebastian stood a few inches shorter than Erik and Philippe. He brushed a few errant locks of his straight, light brown hair out of his face though they fell back easily, as if this were a continuous routine, and hazel eyes peaked out from his bangs. Dressed simply with black pants, a white shirt, and bright red vest, he reached into his pocket and yanked out an old watch.

"It's about time. Couldn't you take directions?" he muttered, returning his pocket watch to its normal place.

Philippe grinned in spite of the man's tone, leaving Erik to question yet again if perhaps Philippe truly delighted in bothering everyone. Erik sighed and Philippe shrugged as he replied, "Well, can't say that brief images bombarding my brain are easy directions to follow, trying to sort through them and all."

"You know the Circle doesn't like to wait."

"How could I forget?" Philippe replied with a bit of a grimace. Erik bit his lip lightly, half-smirking all the same. Philippe had told him that story and the results of his impertinence; apparently they had caned him like a child and he claimed that he hadn't been able to sit for three days.

"I still don't understand how you could get so far off track." Before Philippe could make another smart-aleck comment, Sebastian glared at him then made a strange noise, a shrill whistle that echoed oddly in the night. Moments later, a sparrow flew down and landed on Sebastian's shoulder. Turning sharply on his heel, he mumbled, "follow me" before swiftly transforming himself into a bat.

Erik and Philippe shifted forms quickly and flew hard to catch up with him.

"How could he do that?"

"Do what?"

"Call the bird."

"Oh, that," Philippe shrugged (well, as much as a bat can really shrug in mid-flight), "some vampires can call on an animal." He chuckled lightly. "Still…a sparrow. Don't know how much help that would be."

"You'd be surprised," intoned Sebastian darkly, flying next to the subject in question. "Maybe Emma will just have to peck your eyes out to prove her worth." Sebastian turned back to the sky, still flying at a brisk pace.

"Can't say I'll ever look at a sparrow the same way." Philippe turned to Erik and smirked again. "Hey, did you ever notice that your fur's lighter around where your mask normally is?"

"Can't say that I spend hours in front of the mirror as a bat."

"We're there," Sebastian announced, phasing again to human form. "Don't know why I had to be the messenger boy…" he grumbled as he walked off, still ranting on something or another as Emma chirped approvingly.

"Now what?" Erik asked when Philippe stood there without moving.

"We wait." Philippe's mood had shifted to serious and Erik instead took in his surroundings.

In the pale moonlight, the outlines of two tents were visible. Upon closer inspection they were as brightly striped as any gypsy cart, likely to appear inconspicuous, he gathered. Sebastian had walked into the first tent, throwing back the cover to the door haphazardly, and the light from a single candle permeated the dark fabric and the vague outline of other shapes was visible to Erik's enhanced sight. The other tent was of a thicker fabric and we couldn't see inside as well as he would have liked, wishing to gather whatever information he could about what he would soon be up against. In the distance, the city was barely distinguishable and Erik was sad to leave it. The other direction held miles of endless beauty with an occasional cottage.

Philippe was rambling off on some point or another and Erik was successfully ignoring him until he caught the word "Christine."

"What was that?"

"Thought that would get your attention, I mean you didn't even take me up on the offer to help plague Raoul's existence so I didn't think you were taking in anything I was saying." Philippe's tone shifted, growing more serious. "Anyway, that's the theater from my vision and the elders should call on us soon. You need to treat them with respect. I'm not joking on this one. Oh and be honest, lying honestly won't pay here, especially since Elder Aleta can see right through any lie you could concoct. It's her gift."

"Gift?"

"Haven't you noticed? Every vampire has an ethereal gift, just like every human has their talents. 'Bastian calls his sparrow, I sense others of our kind, Aleta knows the truth when she sees it, dear ol' Donny has this assertive power that can make a king bow without argument, Annabelle," Philippe made a strange growling noise, "can make any man's blood boil—even when there isn't any to speak of—and Irving drives the ladies wild just by breathing—I tell you it wasn't easy to learn from him; whether he sired me or not, way too many distractions—and there's Dane who has the final say of any judgement (never try to make him smile) and Ethan could snap you in two and Margaret…"

He continued on several names for a few moments and Erik debated which question he would ask first: How could Philippe sense Christine? and what was his gift? He waited impatiently for Philippe to finish listing, somewhat interested otherwise he'd have interrupted him long ago. When Philippe finally stopped for breath, Erik opened his mouth when the 'door' of the mysterious tent flopped open and a cavalcade walked out. Philippe bowed his head respectively but Erik merely watched the procession of vampires, lead by a man with brown hair cropped short and a goatee dressed in deep forest green over a white shirt. His presence oozed confidence and superiority and Erik fought down a mingling sense of intimidation he would never admit to feeling as he met the leader's brown, nearly black, eyes.

"Good evening," he intoned simply, with a soft Scottish accent. "I am Donald, Chief Elder of the Circle. Wait in our tent and we will be with you shortly. Something has come up."

Before Erik could breathe a word of protest, they cluster had moved on down the hill into the base of the amphitheater.

"Hmm…after all that worry about haste, too, no less," Philippe remarked casually. "Well then, let's relax before we're put before the firing squad."

Erik meditated in his thoughts and questions, following Philippe wordlessly into the tent as the flap whispered shut behind him.

∞†∞

"Are you certain?"

The crumpled figure on the ground coughed weakly. "I-I swear to it. All of them. This is the first time I've—" he started coughing again, much more harshly, bringing up blood and bile. A few members of the group standing around the broken form licked their lips unconsciously.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Very gradually. Don't know." His eyes rolled back briefly then he returned his focus, glancing at the sky; "You know, I haven't-haven't seen the moon like this in…God I don't know how many years." After a pathetic laugh, he began to cough again until his battered body could not recover and all life left his useless shell.

The group left the corpse where is lay, resolving to send an underling later to properly care for the carcass of the dead werewolf.

"Where did you find him, Dane?"

"Not far from here, North," he replied impassively.

"This changes many things," Donald muttered. "Come, we have other matters to discuss tonight."

* * *

**Authoress Babbling:** I was having fun on picking names :shrug: fun reference page.

This week's Erik & Philippe fan-club (free membership to reviewers!) activity: knife-throwing practice at the fop's head (as suggested by Neori), Punjab lessons (both weaving your own and the art of tossing) taught be Erik, and as a special this week, Donald will recite some Robert Burns and other poetry (in his Scottish accent!..sorryI digress).

Well as always, **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_**

Until next time, take care


	18. Reading into Things

**Disclaimer: **There once was a land dreamed in catacombs of the authoress's mind where all copyrights were hers and she frolicked in the feilds merrily with her pride and joy but alas, she awoke to find that the rights belonged to another, namely Leroux and Webber. Many times she returns to that happy place but we cannot all live there. Therefore, I merely manipulate but do not create (except for the plot and all other twists that are unfamiliar).

_College work, a temporary job, an 8 page paper on poetry, Robbie introducing me to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, parent's weekend, choir concert... I personally don't like this one update a month crap either so I won't even ask for forgiveness; this is ridiculous. But I will thank all of you for reviewing! I really appreciate it, more than I can say. Thanks for the encouragement and all the little quips that make my roommate question my sanity further when I burst out laughing randomly. (And thanks to Nabria for catching those blasted little mistakes). HUGS FOR EVERYONE!_

_I actually had an epiphany the other day and sort of know how this is going to end now...-:sniff:- sorta makes me sad..._

_Anyway, without further adue...please, Enjoy!_

* * *

The sides of the tent stirred gently in the breeze yet neither Erik nor Philippe paid it any mind. Rather, they were focusing intently on the voices just on the other side and catching only a few words despite their efforts. There seemed to some debate going on until the imperious voice of Donald sounded out both quietly and strong, "Enough of this. There is nothing that can be done about it now. We will see to the summoned before the sun comes up." 

The entrance flap was thrust aside and Dane walked in, face expressionless as he glanced at the two of them. Philippe scrambled to his feet but Erik took his time, discreetly studying the other as he slowly stood up. "Come," was all he said before turning heel and leading the way.

Erik calmly trailed after but Philippe was making a conscious effort to keep up with Dane. Noting to himself that Philippe remained silent, Erik thought it best to follow suit for the time being, still not knowing what to expect out of the Circle. After a brief march, they came to the edge of the theatre carved into the hill with bits of stone jutting from the grass. Dane rounded on them and commanded, "Wait here" before striding up to where several others stood.

"You've been markedly quiet," Erik noted with the hint of a smirk.

"What can I say? Dane scares me." Philippe shuddered slightly. "I don't think he has any feelings to speak of. But you wouldn't know anything about that, now would you? Mr. I'll-hide-behind-a-mask-so-no-one-can-ever-make-out-my-expression. It's just creepy. That and I'm not too eager about this."

Doubtful that there was anything to be truly afraid of, Erik just shook his head and walked forward as they were beckoned. Philippe stopped Erik: "I'm serious, Erik. Caning is the least of what they could do. Be respectful. Besides, you're going to be reflecting me so make me look good."

"I think they'd be surprised with anything more than a slobbering idiot."

Philippe shot Erik a look before beginning to laugh as they came up to the cracked stone stage. All the elders of the Circle stopped discussing as the two of them approached, their faces set in grim expressions save for Dane who still betrayed nothing and Annabelle (she had to be, as lovely as she was) who winked and wore a seductive smile. All but Dane (who leaned near a partially dilapidated wall, arms crossed and studying) sat on the stone chairs carved into the hill while Erik and Philippe stood on the stage, mindful not to stumble into a gaping hole and lose a foot. All eyes then followed to Donald, quietly sizing up Erik and Philippe. Philippe's smirk fell away and visibly shuddered. Erik stared back into Donald, ignoring the freeze that had instantly followed when Donald's gaze had landed on him, refusing to be intimidated by paltry tricks.

"State your name," he demanded lazily as he sighed and sat back slightly, staring first at Philippe who instantly blurted out, "Philippe De Chagny." His gaze shifted again to Erik who said nothing. Philippe nudged him, silently encouraging him to speak.

"Erik."

"Last name?"

"It is not important." Donald's eyes flickered briefly but returned instantly to the same grim expression.

Philippe whispered urgently next to him, "Don't start anything you won't be able to finish. Just be a good little boy for once." Erik shook his head lightly.

Donald rose from his place and began to saunter back and forth as he spoke, hands clasped behind his back and partially inhibiting the normal flow of his dark cloak: "We have a bit of a dilemma. As farfetched as it may seem, our truce between the werewolves has been breached." _Farfetched indeed, werewolves_, Erik thought though didn't voice his opinion, instead scoffing quietly. Donald continued anyway, whether or not he had heard it: "This can mean a number of things for our kind. We had hoped that another hunt could be avoided but as it stands—"

"Hunt?" Erik interrupted, curious, only to be met by Donald's imperial glare, though whether it was meant to have been coated in ice or whether that was just his nature was difficult to decide.

"Yes, hunt. Werewolves are the better fighters so it is much easier to seek them out when they are less dangerous, without the magic of the full moon."

"Not very sportsmanlike, I suppose," the vampire who, judging by his handsome features, had to be Irving entered in, "but this is survival and war. From what we know of your history, 'fair' hasn't always exactly been your priority. But anyway, you were saying, Donald?"

"Regardless, you have been brought into the Circle and your reading was of a peculiar kind. Werewolves aside but not forgotten, you will submit to a personal reading; call it a preemptive measure lest you betray us," he added flippantly. "Come. Let us take care of this matter first. Then perhaps we'll know what to do with you."

Erik said nothing, though disliking the general sense that he was something easily cast aside. Philippe walked beside him as the rest of the group rose to follow, whispering, "I don't know if that was the best way to start. Might be best to not ask questions."

Erik gave Philippe a pointed look.

"Hey, I know what you're thinking, I'm not a wimp, I just learned my lesson and don't care to repeat it."

Erik only blinked slowly and gave him a skeptical look.

"Alright, so maybe I never really 'learn my lesson' but for the time being I'm going to pretend I did. On a different note, to answer you unasked question, no I don't know what's going on but I imagine the personal reading is due to the fuzzy initial reading. The vampires learned long ago that it was hell trying to make sure everyone was loyal to the Circle. Hunters have even managed to make it in; don't ask how it's just history. So the object is to avoid it before it happens."

Philippe stopped talking as the cluster stopped in front of the tents again. Donald was speaking with Sebastian who, though sullen, nodded respectfully and marched off griping, "Now I have to be the maid and clean up after everyone, swell," while grabbing a shovel that had laid on the ground. Donald then lifted the flap and motioned for Erik to follow, casting a baleful glance back that read no one was to disturb them.

The faint flicker of a few carefully placed white candles brought the tent to a warm glow and revealed what first appeared to be a mass of colorful scarves. The mass moved to glance over her shoulder at the new faces with a slightly fearful look in her eyes. Her hair, what was peaking out from a large kerchief about it, was wavy and bushy black with a few lighter streaks of mingling grey. Donald lead Erik to sit in front of her, and large yellow candle between them casting an eerie shadow across her features.

In the gentlest voice Erik had yet heard him use, Donald bent low from his stance and whispered next to her ear, "Sancha, this is Erik. We seek to know what his future holds." She closed her dark eyes and nodded lightly. Satisfied, he moved back and stood near the entrance, staring out the tent flap up at the full moon.

In a quiet tone, Sancha murmured, "Remove your mask please. I need to see your face."

"For both our sakes, I'd rather not. Half will have to do."

"But for the reading to work, I have to."

"Again, I will decline."

"Your identity doesn't matter here."

"It's not my identity I'm protecting."

She cast a helpless glance at Donald who was only watching the scene.

"I will not," he repeated.

"Oh, come now, certainly it can't be that horrible…" Erik only sighed and shook his head; she obviously had no idea. A few seconds later it didn't matter as, in a desperate effort to follow orders, she snatched the white mask from his face. Erik felt the cool air against his mutilated skin and resisted the urge to cover his shame instead glaring heatedly at the shocked gypsy.

"You wanted to see, take your fill," he snarled, the nasty grimace twisting his face even more so. A silent scream exploded from her features and she dropped the mask, placing her hands over her mouth.

Casually lifting the mask from the ground and dusting it off, Donald, crossed his arms over his chest and stated with a air of complete indifference, "Sancha, you need to finish the reading. I doubt you would want to breach our agreement."

Whatever little color was returning to her cheeks fled again as she turned back from Donald and faced Erik again, who was now merely watching her coldly. With shaking hands, she reached up and placed her palms on Erik's smooth cheek then the other. Once her skin made contact, she flinched back, retracting her hands.

"That is no ordinary disfigurement," she whispered, almost to herself. Stealing herself, she placed her hands on Erik's face again. Erik's eyes flew wide as the sudden jolt shot through and images flooded his mind. It was over in a moment, and Erik sat back trying to make sense of it all.

"Well?" Donald asked.

"This is one of the most difficult reads I've ever seen. But it is as I suspected; that is no ordinary disfigurement: his grandfather was a werewolf."

Erik looked at her curiously as Donald, with a bit more enthusiasm than he'd seen yet, said, "Yes, he could very well be a link. What did you see?"

"His reading was jumbled, though clearer than the first time. There was a woman, someone dear to you I think?" she turned to Erik for confirmation.

Mentally leafing through the random flashes, he saw Christine. "Yes."

"She needs to be brought in, complete what you started."

Pulling away, Erik shook his head and resolutely declared, "I will do no such thing if she does not wish it."

"But—"

"No."

She looked as if she was about to say something more but at the frosty blue glare changed her mind. "Fine."

"What else?" Donald demanded.

"Watch out for your rival."

"Well that goes without saying," Erik quipped before realizing perhaps Philippe had begun to rub off on him.

"He's closer than you think. Your gift is your music."

"Again, nothing earth shattering," Erik muttered.

"Do not cast that aside so easily. I saw it all. You could seduce with song as a mortal but now it is much more than that, amplified if you will. The very rocks and stones of the earth would crumble should you ask it. Granted, it would not be quite that simple but you will not obtain this until you—" she hesitated for a moment. "This is where it is hazy again. There is something else…some other ability I'm sure...but again, it is still too jumbled to be sure. As for what you're wondering," she glanced at Donald, "he will not betray your kind. As of now, I predict that you will have a long life but fate has a way of changing things depending on what you choose next. Be wary. War is eminent. For your kind to survive, you must help and—"

"Donald!" Annabelle burst through the flap. "The sun will be up soon, we must find cover."

Donald nodded and turned back to the two of them. "Thank you, Sancha, for your help. You may return to your family now and we shall contact you when your services are required again." He tossed her a small leather pouch that she fumbled to catch before scurrying out of the tent without looking back. Handing Erik his mask back, he raised his voice for the benefit of all those gathered on the other side of the tent wall. "Come, I know of a place where we can find shelter from the sun." Turning back to Erik, he added, "and we shall finish later."

∞†∞

Christine shook off that nagging feeling in the back of her mind and wordlessly followed Raoul through the large doors into the mansion. The Baron Castelo-Barbezac's estate was grand to say the least; even in her distracted state, Christine couldn't help but notice the height of the foyer and the giant pillars on either side. Alabaster stone, polished to a blinding shine, stair rails ran along the wide staircase as the help scurried down to greet their master and see to all his guests. There was no ceiling to speak of; the room seemed to open up to the sky and such windows were far from cheap. The last beams of sunlight gripped the edge of the glass, bathing the room in an orange glow. Paintings and fine tapestries covered many vacant spots along the wall. Even the servants had an air of splendor as they bustled past the two of them, rushing to bring in the luggage.

"Oh, it's wonderful, John!"

"I'm certainly glad you approve." The Baron smiled at Meg and Christine couldn't help but grin a secret smile of her own, pleased to see his affections seemed pure toward her best friend.

"What do you think, Christine?"

"I think it's marvelous, Meg. Who could think otherwise?" Christine then turned to the Baron: "Thank you for allowing us to come along."

"Indeed, it was my pleasure." He inclined his head briefly. "You will always be welcome here at any time, Christine, and I hope you take me up on that."

"I believe I shall have to," Christine laughed as she shared a significant glance with Meg, purposely disregarding subtlety in her fatigue and reveling in the blush that filled her cheeks. "I should very much like to be settled in if you would be so kind as to show—"

"Master? There's a gentleman here to see you."

"Just a moment, Gabriel."

The black-haired servant wrung his hands nervously and fidgeted, looking all the while as if he wanted to say something more but, by judging how his eyes fell to the other guests, didn't want to utter it in front of anyone else.

The Baron Castelo-Barbezac sighed lightly and conceded: "Alright, Gabriel. I'll see him. Where is he?"

"In the east drawing room, sir."

"Could you kindly please escort Mlle. Daaé to her room?"

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," he replied, visibly relieved. "If you'll follow me, Miss?"

Christine, nodded and followed after him. The room was splendid; there was no better word for it. Yellow was a definite theme, Christine noted, as she walked past the lavish four-poster and to a spacious balcony. There was a knock at the door and Christine rose to answer it.

Raoul stood there with a grin which Christine automatically returned. "Here, Christine, put this on your balcony door to ward off any monsters." He pressed a charm into her hand from God knew what stall he had bought it from. "But don't worry about the other door. Vampires can't come into a house unless invited and furthermore, I'm just next door should you need anything." He kissed her forehead and hugged her to him. "I'll let you rest, my love. Just let me know should you want for anything."

He left and Christine tossed the charm onto the bed; humoring Raoul's fear was tiresome. Her bags had already been dropped off and she began to unpack. Glancing through her luggage, she found a box that held a dress that she didn't recognize. After a moment, Christine realized that Meg's purchases from the city must have been mixed in with her things.

Sighing, she grasped the box and walked through the dark wooden doors. She called out tentatively as her voice echoed down the empty hallway but no one responded to her. Thankfully, she bumped into a kind maid who pointed her in the right direction.

Unfortunately, the door that she apparently couldn't miss happened to look like all the others. Christine carefully peaked her head in one door only to startle two servants who had tried to find a quiet room and were so frazzled at being caught that they were of little assistance. From then on, Christine resolved to knock and to make herself heard beforehand. Sighing and marching up to another door, she raised her hand to knock and stopped inches from the wood when she heard voices from inside.

"Enough with the small talk," the Baron's voice, in a more irritated tone than she had ever heard from him, finally formed the first discernable phrase that should could pick up. "Why are you here?"

"As I was saying, we needed protection for the day." Another voice sent shivers down Christine's spine; it was a bass voice, if the man was a singer, but the light layer of malice still coated his words like veneer on a fine desk.

"Come now, there's no need to take that tone," a cooler, lighter voice took up, though no less chilling on Christine's nerves. "Don't worry, Baron Castelo-Barbezac. We will be leaving for the night soon. But I must ask if we can further trespass on your kindness and that we be allowed to return tomorrow morning."

The Baron's sigh was audible through the wood. "I suppose so. Truly, I don't mind helping any traveler no matter…" he trailed off for a moment, unsure of how to fill in that blank with an inoffensive phrase. "Regardless, should you need a place to stay, I would prefer having a bit of warning. Furthermore, I ask that none of your kind is to go near my guests, that my amnesty be extended to them."

"Consider it done," the second voice replied silkily.

Christine sprang back from the door, afraid to be caught, as the conversation apparently came to a close and the gentlemen began shuffling about. The visitors exited seconds later and she tried to make it look as though she were studying a tapestry on the wall. One of the gentleman wore deep green and had brown hair and a goatee; he marched down the hallway with a different sort of confidence and nodded gallantly at Christine as they passed. The other was shorter with his hair pulled back and grumbled to himself down the hallway.

The Baron walked out a moment later. "Christine, what are you doing here? Got a bit lost?"

She nodded, "I confess, I've been looking for Meg's room for the past ten minutes."

"I'll lead the way." Christine took the offered arm but suppressed her curiosity. "I suppose you're wondering who those men were," he spoke after a bit of silence. "We've had a few dealings in the past, I helped them and they helped me, but I hadn't seen any of them in a while nor did I expect to see them again. It's best if you avoid them."

"I shall do my best," Christine conceded.

"Ah! Here we are," he announced as he knocked jovially on Meg's door.

She answered promptly: "Christine! John! Do come in."

Christine allowed herself to be pulled in but the Baron declined, declaring that he had a few matters to attend to but that it would not keep him long. He then kissed Meg's hand and left.

As soon as the dreamy look had passed from Meg's face and she turned back to her friend, Christine giggled and Meg threw a few mockingly indignant phrases before succumbing to laughter herself.

"Now," Meg stated after getting a hold of herself again, "what did you need? I thought you were going to get some rest."

Christine held up the box. "This was among my things."

"Ohhh…" Meg looked slightly disappointed. "That was supposed to be a surprise. I bought it for you but I was going to give it to you at a different time." She brightened, "Aw well. I suppose you can have it early. Do you like it?"

It was a lovely gown and Christine assured her that the blue was a wonderful shade and that she'd wear it on the first opportunity. Their conversation fell to the journey, of which Meg had many fond memories of the carriage ride alone. Christine took a moment to inspect the view from her window, across the plains with a few trees in the distance. A cluster of people came from the house and began to disappear into the darkness, hard to differentiate from the black even in the nearly-full moonlight.

* * *

**Babble: **And so ends another chunk. I just finished writing that a bit ago so hopefully I caught most of the grammar and spelling baddies. I'm actually starting finals here and then Knox's uber-long break starts so with any luck I'll have another chunk up a little faster...after I write it, of course. :)

And the usual: **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_** (just that little button in the corner to make me, again, enternally happy for now). Ideas... questions... comments... concerns... random blurbs...

Reviewers get the Intro to the Circle picture book complete with factoids and whatnot plus the new release limited edition of Erik and Philippe plushies to add to your collection!

Take care, all.


	19. Look who's Coming to Dinner

_Hey all! _

_I know. This once a month updating thing is driving me crazy but I've been working on a couple original ideas and trying to clean up old ones. I'm opting for a shorter update rather than a really late longer one and decided to send it off before I'm estranged from my computer for the next few days (visiting my cousin in Ohio). I'm hoping to get another one up here while I'm on break. _

_Still sort of shaky on this chapter but I hope it came out well. _

_A thousand thank you's to reviewers! You inspire me! _

_Much love, everyone. Hope all's well on your side of the internet and enjoy!_

* * *

Erik ran his fingers down his disfigured face, feeling all the strange grooves that he had long since memorized. He had always assumed the marring of his flesh had just been a cruel joke from God but who would suspect that it was just gene permeation? He replaced the cool mask across his face again, eager to avoid screams, stares, or at worst impertinent questions. Though the realization had not hit him until later, it was an astounding discovery. And though he could still do nothing about it, there was relief in putting a name to it.

And of course, it would figure that the most important information from the meeting went unsaid. The cliché was that he would find out when he needed to anyway, wasn't it? Hopefully hindsight wouldn't be much of an issue in his case.

The day had proved to be rather interesting. Philippe had been the only one to question him about his reading and he reported little, not having much to tell and wishing to share less. While the vampires had waited patiently in the cellar of a lavish house for the scorching rays of the sun to pass, Erik was able to learn a few things about the elders of the Circle. Actually, most seemed eager to relate what lead them to the Circle and whatever tragedies had polluted their life, though mostly related in a more condescending tone than Erik would have liked. Margaret had nearly been staked by her family when then discovered her transformation, some fifty years ago. She still visited her husband's grave on occasion; he had tragically died in the crossfire, entirely at a loss on who to side with. Dane would relate facts about himself without any real emotion and Erik could only assume he had been like that for most of his life, though the corners of his mouth quirked slightly when he spoke of his brother (who had unfortunately been staked a few years back). Annabelle had been the mistress of a rather wealthy gentlemen (that she didn't feel confident to disclose the name of) until he tossed her aside and she found other outlets for her charms as a vampire. Irving had been on top of the world and apparently just happened to grow bored with it, ready to move on to something new. Ethan had been a goldsmith and turned to the vampires for help (having heard of them from all the local lore on the subject) for some ailment he didn't expand on that would have killed him otherwise. Aleta didn't care to divulge her prior profession or much about her life, merely smiling and passing her turn on to another. Erik followed suit, not wishing to relive moments much too fresh that could lead to questions much too awkward and much too painful.

Sebastian and Donald had not been present during the whole discussion, having left before the others had awakened. The two of them had kept watch along the ground floor, managing to steer away any disturbances without being seen by the help or whoever else might have wandered too close to their temporary haven.

Philippe had told him that they were also attempting to intercept the owner of the household, should he return early, a preemptive measure should any issues arise. "It's the house of some Baron or another. Cazello-Barback or something like that," he had said. "Apparently, he's helped us out in the past before. We rescued him from a werewolf several years back, yes there are the occasional rogues that break the treaty but anyway the Baron gives us shelter every now and again. A fair deal all in all. That and we promised not to touch him in return for his generosity. But really when you think about it, if we just sucked him dry one night, we could claim this manor as our own. Judging just by the cellar here, you can tell that it's a nice place." It was true enough. The wine cellar was not only large and shut off from the light but very spacious and strangely clean, in spite of the dirt from whence it was carved. A few items had been placed down there, most likely for storage, such as an elegant full length mirror that sat in a corner, betraying no one's presence despite its breadth.

Donald had led the group away from the manor early in the evening, explaining briefly (in a tone that booked no room of argument) that their presence hadn't exactly been welcomed by the Baron but as long as everyone kept their distance from the Baron's guests, all would be well. He then suggested that they leave in search of a meal before continuing on what needed to be covered.

A small, nameless village within sight (thought still quite far) of the wonders of Rome suited their purposes, some even ventured into the catacombs under the surface, discovering stragglers, mourners, or some who couldn't turn down a bet exploring the vast underground tunnels on the outskirts of the marvelous city. Those who had already finished in revitalizing themselves (or those who didn't sport with their prey for too long after targeting it) waited on a grassy knoll for the others to return. Erik sat faced away from the group again lost in his own contemplation. Before they all left the Baron's house (which was lovely, by Erik's architectural tastes), he saw a woman's silhouette in one of the second floor balcony windows, and try as he might he couldn't shake the sensation that perhaps it was Christine, as far fetched as that may seem. But then again, he had been seeing her everywhere, if only brought on by his imagination.

Erik was jerked back from his thoughts as Sebastian dashed toward them, flailing his arms in a most undignified manner. His tan hair, normally pulled back, was loose and falling in his face, giving him a feral appearance as he stumbled over himself trying to explain whatever had gotten him so excited.

Donald strode over and shook the man. "Calm down. What's the matter?" He stopped for a moment and glanced at his hand that had moments before gripped Sebastian's arm, a bit of confusion emerging from the calm: "You're bleeding."

Sure enough, Sebastian's vest was open with a few buttons missing and his shirt was torn, spattered with flecks of blood from a few nasty gashes. He seemed to regain himself and finally formed a few coherent words, broken with gasps from his sprint: "Emma…Emma saw something." Erik had to think for a moment before remembering that Emma was the name of Sebastian's sparrow. "She…she saw strange shapes lurking…in the bushes near a cottage. Come! We have to help them!"

"Help who?" Aleta spoke up from Erik's left.

"It's after them!"

"For God's sake, man, _what_ is it?" Annabelle questioned impatiently.

"What else would make a cut that couldn't heal?" Donald uttered rhetorically in a stoic tone. "Where are they, Sebastian?" He was already halfway transformed into a bat before Sebastian finished describing, following the wild gestures instead. "Everyone, now," he commanded laconically.

A cluster of bats rose in the starless sky and descended upon the sleeping town. In their hasty flight, they met a couple of returning members along the way, including a rather confused Philippe ("Where's the fire? Sun coming up early? A hundred madmen with stakes? What's going on?") and Dane who only gestured sharply before leading the group closer to a cluster of trees near the town's boundaries.

Exposed in the moonlight, Ethan stood, his hands forcing away the dripping jaws of an enormous monster. The beast had dark fur matted and clumped together in some parts, especially in spikes that ran down the back, and sported vicious claws. Rising on its hind legs, it was now taller than all of them and lashed against Ethan who, to his credit, did not cry out when his forearm was struck. Prostrate on the ground was Irving, also injured by the look of it and slowly coming back to consciousness. Aleta flew down and landed elegantly as a human next to his side, dragging him away from danger. Dane, Donald, and Margaret reverted back to their normal forms as well, jumping in quickly to drive back the beast. Philippe was fumbling with something in his jacket but made no other move to help.

Ripping his lasso out and ready, Erik jumped nimbly over the beast with a confidence only his years of training and the added grace of a vampire could accomplish and neatly noosed the creature. It made several futile attempts to rip at the rope but the beast's claws could not squeeze under the taut rope and his jagged teeth could find nothing to gnaw, though it snapped and twisted valiantly in the effort. "Let go!" it growled dangerously, words barely coherent through the combination of its deep animalistic tones and the pressure on its throat.

"What is it you want?" Erik shot back, refusing to slacken either his guard or the rope.

"What I want doesn't matter. I want nothing. I kill," it managed to gasp out, still with a menacing growl. With that, he managed to slash at the rope, cutting itself in the process but freeing it all the same. It gave an echoing howl and threw off not only Erik but Dane, Ethan, Donald, and Margaret. Rounding to face his oppressors, the werewolf stared with pupil-less yellow eyes with a cruel resemblance of a smirk. Gnashing its teeth with an obvious intent to display as many vicious fangs as possible, it took a few steps forward on hind paws toward the group.

A gunshot rang out and reverberated off the surrounding hills. Erik turned back to Philippe who still held the small pistol, a twist of smoke emitting from the glinting metal. The creature yelped in a most undignified manner before crumpling to the ground, eyes devoid of any feeling. It slowly melted away into the form of the man as the bullet wound steadily exsanguinated.

"And my uncle said this would be a waste of money," Philippe smiled grimly as he hid the pistol again within his jacket.

"I don't understand, Donald," Annabelle whispered after a moment. "How can he have transformed? The full moon was yesterday. Why would he attack us?"

"I have yet to understand the motivation of a werewolf," Donald replied icily. "As to your other question, I don't know how his transformation was possible. But if the werewolves are to restart a war, the Hunt will have to begin again and in earnest if the moon's cycle is no longer a factor." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Was anyone bitten?" Ethan was the only confirmed bite and he was to be closely observed to decide if he was infected and from there what course of action to take; others were left with scarring marks from the razor claws. The wounded were seen to as best as they could in the circumstances but Donald soon realized the need to regroup, recuperate, and rethink though the night was far from over. Soon the group was limping back to the Baron's estate.

* * *

**_Love it or hate it, please let me know! _**(any ideas? Everyone understand who the Baron was talking to last chapter? bets on what will happen to Ethan?)


	20. Seek a Second Opinion

_Disclaimer (because I've forgotten to write one in a while): Santa did not leave the proper legal documents to turn over any copyrights to me (silly man grabbed the wrong form, I think) so original credit still falls to M. Leroux and Co. Congrats. Plot and other unrecognized characters would happen to be mine though...growl_

_Gah, my muse has been hopping between projects lately...and it's just been crazy. I really do get these out as soon as I'm finished and check it over once or twice. _

_Hope everyone had/is having a fantastic holiday. (I can't believe that I have to go back to school in 6 days, ugh...but I really do miss people.)_

_Hope you like it. _

* * *

"A three and I'm out," Raoul declared triumphantly as he won yet another hand at cards. 

The Baron tossed his hand in playfully in mock disdain: "I've never seen such luck in my life. I believe that it's your turn to deal, you great cheat."

Raoul merely smiled his boyish grin and took in the cards. Christine laughed and tossed hers in as well, exceedingly grateful that the discussion was not again wrapped up in the dark creatures of the night and all of Raoul's assurances and precautions; bless his heart, he did tend to get carried away…to a more staggering degree when Erik was involved it seemed. She sat with her elbows on the card table, chin supported by her hands. Raoul had a generous heart and such likable manners. It didn't seem fair; why did two men have to proclaim such feelings for her? No matter what she did, she knew she would be hurting someone, even should she choose neither…_but then,_ she mused, _they could unite in a common cause._ Christine thought and stared vacantly as the Baron, Meg, and Raoul were talking about something or another, choosing to nod every now and again so as to appear attentive. It all came down to a choice. Raoul had never harmed her in any way and would never be unfaithful so she couldn't find any true reason to quit him. Erik was something more (or possibly less) than human but he had been there when her world had fallen apart and taught her to sing…well that and her soul was ensnared by him, all of him, and she had no wish for her heart to be removed from that perfect spell.

"Christine, are you alright?" the Baron Castelo-Barbezac questioned.

She smiled warmly at his concern. "I'm fine. I was just thinking of how I shall miss the grandeur of your lovely home," she covered smoothly.

"I can assure you that you are most welcome to return."

"And you, my dear sir, will always be welcome at our home," Raoul offered genially.

"I shall have to take advantage of your hospitality someday."

Meg, not to be left out, piped up, "Our home is always welcome as well." Madame Giry, quietly knitting with dark yarn on a large elegant red couch, gave a small smile, having already suspected that her daughter would not wait long to extend her own invitation. She was enjoying the simple observation of the scene, almost like one of the fates observing the mortals whose threads she spun as if her knitting were something more; regardless, one can learn a lot should they just sit back and watch and more if they know what they were looking for. Madame Giry kept her analysis to herself but continued to watch the delightful raillery, vaguely noting at how late it was; surely they all should have been in bed a few hours ago.

She was about to suggest as much when a thunderous and hurried knock at the door brought all attention in its direction as the originator of the sound, a frazzled-looking servant, rushed into the room.

"Gabriel, what is the matter?"

"A thousand pardons, Master, but there is a matter that will require your immediate attention."

The Baron didn't ask but bid his guests a hasty goodnight before following after his servant.

Madame Giry took the opportunity: "I think it's high time that we all go to bed."

"I believe so," Meg stretched out in the middle of a rather unladylike yawn.

The group dissolved and headed for their own bedrooms. After Raoul had dropped her off at her door and kissed her on the cheek, she heard the echo of the Baron's voice along the hallway: "Katherine, we'll need some fresh bandages and be quick about it!" The poor maid scurried down the hallway moments later and nearly flung herself at a closet as Christine watched with interest. She fumbled with the handle for a moment before yanking out as many linens and a few other items as her arms would allow and then nearly colliding with Christine after turning around.

"Pardon me, Miss! I daresay that the Master needs these urgently."

"Do you need any help?"

"Ah, that's kind of you to offer but I can manage."

Christine looked at her skeptically but as a bottle of ointment (judging by the label) nearly smashed to the floor, she spoke again, "I insist." She unburdened the maid of about half her load and started down the hallway before she could book any more protest. The maid caught up quickly and gushed a bit of thanks, though Christine didn't have time to say much back when she saw the gentleman in the main hall: a well-built man leaned against the wall, his pallid features contorted slightly in a grimace of pain and he clutched his arm tightly though the residue of the blood from whatever wound he covered was still easily evident.

"Christine! You ought to be in bed," the Baron reprimanded instantly, paling slightly.

"I realize that but I thought I could help."

"Really, Christine, you should head back to your room. We will see to this."

"John, I really can help," she tried one last time. "I've had to help Meg's mother with enough sprained ankles to know a thing or two about first aid." She didn't bother to add what she had learned in her father's last few months of life, what an infection could do to a person.

He sighed but was obviously too tired to fight much more. "Alright, Christine. We'll all go into the main parlor."

The injured man refused assistance and wavered for a moment before taking a few small steps. Another man from the shadows emerged and assisted the injured gentleman into the other room. Christine took a good look at the previously hidden man and recognized him from earlier that evening as one of the men who had spoken with the Baron. Suddenly wary, she followed regardless.

The Baron led them wordlessly into the room and quickly shut the door behind the group. "Do what you can for now, Christine. I'm sure we can find a proper doctor in the morning." He excused himself after that (Christine thought perhaps to get a drink to soothe his nerves) claiming that he had another matter to attend to though the strange uninjured gentleman followed directly after. The maid stood meekly in the corner, awaiting orders, as Christine turned her attention to her temporary patient.

His arm was still bleeding steadily, despite the pressure he had been applying to it even though it was likely that his strength was slowly waning. He was a well built gentleman to be sure and with pleasant features were they not contorted in worry and obvious pain. While coaxing him to display his wounds for her judgement ("It's just a few scratches," he muttered weakly), Christine kept half a mind on the raised voices on the other side of the door:

"What are you doing back here?" the Baron's voice rang out.

The other man waited a moment before replying in a silky and enviously calm voice, "We ran into a few minor complications."

"Complications? There is a man bleeding in my parlor, for God's sake! I don't want any trouble."

"Neither do we."

"Then why do you insist on dragging me into it?"

"We had little choice."

"And what choice have I? I ought to turn you all out now."

"I would advise against that," replied the voice with a definite threat etched into his tone.

Worry then broke into the Baron's tone: "What is going on? Will you at least tell me that?"

"We are trying to save our own and others from the same fate we helped you escape. And on that is where I invade upon your generosity."

Puzzling over the implications of the discussion, Christine was brought back to her surroundings when the wounded man nearly flinched out of her grasp. There were other words tossed between the two men just on the other side of the door but one quick glance at her patient—whose face was still managing to grow paler, despite its already impossible shade—reminded her of what was more important at the moment.

She took another look at the gash: there were a few smaller cuts around the injury but the main problem looked like the bite of some vicious animal or another. Christine held her breath glancing at the damage and noting how deep the scratches really were. She peeled back the bloody shirt gingerly, glancing up at her charge to be certain that he was not only still alive but still conscious.

"How did this happen?" she asked quietly once the maid had returned with the hot water and a basin.

"It was just an accident," he whispered roughly.

She began to cleanse the skin as the man hissed softly. "What is your name?"

"Ethan. You don't need to know any more than that."

Slightly put back and her reserve of courage used up for the night, she chose to accept his answer and say nothing more as she dressed the injury, even though it was still bleeding too much for her liking. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the chair, making Christine all the more nervous as she glanced back several times to make sure he was still breathing.

The Baron and the other man entered the room again and Christine breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Well?"

Christine took another good look at the strange gentleman before answering. "He needs stitches but there's too much swelling now. I wrapped it as best I could. We need to find him a doctor."

He waived off her prognosis: "There will be no need for that. We can handle stitches later if they are needed."

Ethan slowly opened his eyes and raised a weak hand toward his companion. The other took it and helped the man to his feet.

Christine, mildly miffed from her rebuff, shook it off and started to protest. "This man shouldn't be moved. I'm sure that John would not mind sheltering him until we can find a doctor."

The man glanced over his shoulder but continued to act as a crutch for his companion. Seeing that he was not inclined to listen to her advice, she turned to the Baron. "Can't you do something about this?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied, without much emotion. "It's their decision."

"Well, what do they intend to do?"

"I cannot say."

Christine didn't push any further, noticing the drawn look about the Baron. Instead, she suggested that they both make their way to bed and deal with their guests in the morning.

∞†∞

Erik glanced at Irving who still hadn't moved since he'd plopped down in the corner upon their return. Aleta had tended to his wounds but he was nearly catatonic, refusing or unable to respond to anything; he only stared off into another world of his own making.

Annabelle sat down next to Erik and wordlessly pushed back his shirtsleeve to inspect his cut.

"It's fine," he stated exasperatedly. Surely he'd had enough injuries to know how to care for them on his own, a process of trial and error since no one else cared to take the time to instruct him but for what he could find in books. "What's wrong with him?" he gestured toward Irving.

"He's in a bit of shock." Erik glanced at her with a look that read 'well I could see _that'_ and she continued, "That's the first time Irving's had to face a werewolf since his brother died. I didn't imagine he'd take it well." Erik looked perplexed and she sighed. "His brother Thomas was massacred by one of their kind some few years ago. I'll spare you the details mostly because I'd rather not remember them myself. There weren't enough pieces left to bury and he saw it all. Donald might tell you that Thomas's gift was being able to track nearly anything but really," she exhaled and closed her eyes briefly, "I think he was Irving's sanity. After it all happened, Irving disappeared for a few years. We found him half-starved and sun-sick and since then he's slowly come back to his old self."

Philippe sat down ungainly next to them. "Does anyone here have a story that isn't so annoyingly depressing? It's a wonder we're not all a bunch of moping and sulking children."

"You can't be damned and have a happy story," she replied simply.

"Why not?"

She smiled slightly. "It just doesn't follow."

The door smacked against the wall as it was flung open and Donald helped Ethan hobble down the steps. Dane took Ethan's other arm and led them over to a makeshift bed to let their charge lie down. He didn't look well, that was certain, and his bandage was already nearly stained through; concern managed to break through even Dane's shell.

"Make him as comfortable as possible," Donald ordered to Dane before turning his attention to the rest of the group. "Nothing is conclusive. We don't even know if he's infected and with any luck we won't discover until the next full moon. Whatever the werewolves have down to boost their transformation will not go unchecked. We will rest here for today and seek a cure for Ethan. Then the Hunt will begin again."

Irving raised his head and watched Donald during his speech then closed his eyes as his posture slumped in resignation.

* * *

_Hugs for Irving! (I'd add some better quip or something here but I haven't the time to be brilliant right now.)_

_Take care everyone. __**Love it or hate it, please let me know!**_


	21. Drink to your Health

_Disclaimer: Don't own orginal characters and all that, just like shifting them around in my own created universe. Kudos to Leroux and Co. _

_How's this for a quick update? I'm trying to squeak one in here before that maintenance thing kicks in...okay I didn't make it in time...later tomorrow then. _

_I just finished this a couple of hours ago actually. I've had a lot of time to write the last couple of days since my Dad's been in the hospital; when he's trying to sleep, I type (he's NOT a good patient when he's awake, wink). _

_On top of that stress, I got my first flame a couple of days ago and let's just say it was poorly timed, not that any time is good for something that says "you suck this is the worst thing I've ever read." I respect their right to dislike my stuff but disregard it mostly for the personal attack so I think that's just someone's way of getting their kicks. Sort of a reminder that you can't please everyone I suppose. sigh_

_Anyway, I had some fun clicking on the review replies and that cheered me right up. Thanks a thousand times over to everyone who's reviewed and stuck around and all those who've put this on their favorite stories. You rock my world and keep me going! _

_Fair warning: The ending on this one'sgoing to be a bit sharp, if you know what I mean, but that's where my muse said to put it and she's been cooperating so well the last few days. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Some time later, no color had returned to Ethan's face. No one could say that vampires did not take care of their own; Donald had set a series of watches over both their comrade and the door to the cellar so as to keep out unwelcome visitors. Erik ventured to guess that Aleta had been a nurse in her lifetime, judging by how even Donald looked to her for advice in matters of health and healing. Whoever was instructed to see to Ethan had strict orders to wake Aleta first should his condition change one way or another, leading to a rather tiresome night and ill spirits on her part throughout most of the next day. 

Donald had put Irving to work, Erik noted, with the philosophy that if he was kept busy he wouldn't dwell on what haunted him. All in all, it seemed to work rather effectively considering how unresponsive he had been earlier; Irving had even managed to grin without too much negated by his saddened eyes.

Philippe sat next to Erik, having just returned from his post at the main door. "You see that mirror over there?" he asked Erik, strangely serious. "Have you ever seen it before?"

Erik took a good look at the mirror, noting that his reflection was missing and otherwise that the frame did look vaguely familiar, as if he'd seen it in a dream. He told Philippe as much.

"I've got the same feeling about it. I wonder why this guy put it in his basement. No chance he's your uncle or something and just doesn't want to look at his own ghastly face, is there?"

By means of response, Erik smacked Philippe smartly upside the head then wrenched his wrist into an unnatural position. "You were saying?" he asked him with a dangerous tone thinly coated with false sweetness.

"Nothing! Nothing! Let me go!" One of Philippe's fingers made a strange cracking noise and Erik released him, smirking. Philippe gritted his teeth as he moved his pinkie back into proper alignment. "That was uncalled for. Just be glad vampires are fast healers or I might have had to lash back." He grinned lightly though Erik made a mental note to look out for a bit of childish payback in the next few hours.

"Vampires are fast healers," he repeated. "Then why is Ethan still down?"

"Anything caused by a werewolf is going to be a bit more bothersome. Were Ethan human, the wound would certainly never close but being a vampire gives him more of a chance. Though we really don't know what's going to happen, what with that little nibble from Rover…or Fifi maybe…it's hard to tell a female werewolf from a male."

Philippe was still talking about something or another but Erik watched as Donald surveyed his crew with his hands clasped behind his back. He had already informed the group that they would be staying another night here and that feeding groups would depart in threes. Erik watched as the first group made their way back into the cellar, though it was still rather early in the evening. Irving, Dane, and Margaret rose as the next group. Aleta joined their party with the assurances that she would return on her own as soon as she had finished. For Irving's sake, Erik was glad that Philippe hadn't been placed in his group, noting that not only were most not accustomed to his humor but that Irving would not be in a mood to oblige him, perhaps to go beyond a simple broken finger.

Erik took his turn and watched as Ethan took in shallow breaths, coughing every now and again. True to her word, Aleta was back relatively quickly and relieved Erik of his post with a dismissing hand. The rest of the second group was slower in returning but nonetheless quick in their journey. Erik, Philippe, and Sebastian rose from their place and made for the door as Donald intoned again the importance of safety in numbers and to lead no creature back to their safe ground. Throwing his cape over his shoulders, Erik led the way out, still not entirely adjusted to being under the strictures and orders of someone other than himself. Philippe tossed his own cape about him though it lacked the finesse Erik had displayed ("You've got to show me how you do that someday.") Sebastian grumbled, less than pleased to be in Philippe's company, but wouldn't pass the opportunity to feed; who knew when the next opportunity would be at hand considering the erratic feeding schedule from the first Hunt.

Philippe was still rambling about something or another as the three of them (four when Sebastian's sparrow Emma joined) made their way to town. Each left one at a time with the other two to stand watch nearby. When Erik returned from his kill, he saw Sebastian with his arms crossed over his chest and Philippe still chatting away.

"Why won't you talk to me, Sebastian? I don't think I've ever met anyone quite so rude."

"Because I don't like you," he replied simply. "And you don't need much encouragement."

Erik nodded lightly mostly to himself. Philippe was obviously a little startled by his blunt answer but was quick to smile again. "Well, at least you're honest. You still haven't forgiven me for—"

"No, I haven't," he butted in. "And I would rather you not bring it up. It's my turn. You two watch."

He didn't wait and took off for a small house.

Erik's curiosity got the better of him: "What did you do to him?"

Philippe shrugged. "It was just a harmless joke." Erik raised an eyebrow, the visible one, as if to say 'I doubt any of your jokes are harmless.' "Alright, alright. They had those same tents when I was first called to the Circle and they don't protect too much when the sun is directly overhead. He was closest to the entrance of the cave we camped in and I just nudged his sleeping hand a little closer to the doorway. Sebastian made an excellent alarm clock with a stunning scream a few hours later when the sun was at the right angle. It's not my fault he sleeps like a rock. Besides, it's not like there was any lasting damage…of course that was just one of them. I really not sure which one he's angry at."

Erik shook his head.

Sebastian returned shortly and with a snappish, "Let's go back," transformed and flew back toward the Baron's estate.

∞†∞

Aleta was quiet for a moment, feeling for Ethan's pulse. She sighed and raised her head to look at Donald. "It's awfully weak but steady. I don't think we should move him for another day or so at least."

"We may not have another day," Dane remarked by Donald's side. "Who knows what this new effect could have done to their other strengths. They were fantastic trackers before."

Donald nodded slowly. "This is true. We will stay as long as we can. But all the same, we will have an escape ready. I can only hope that they are also inhibited by the sun or this will be a battle we cannot win."

Aleta sighed again. "I think the best we can do for him now is let him rest and find him some sustenance."

"That we can do," Donald replied solemnly. He turned around. "Irving? See if you can find a maid or something. Our host may not like it but his discomfort won't stand against Ethan's life."

Irving inclined his head briefly before snaking up the stairs.

∞†∞

Christine had given up discovering any more about their mysterious guests having done everything short of asking outright (a faux pas if she ever knew one). She had even snooped in the other guest rooms to find them unoccupied. The day had gone rather quickly with a bit of walking and reading but little more. The Baron was tied up in some business or another though Christine had no way of knowing if it had anything to do with the previous night's excitement. He came in every now and again but never could stay very long, much to Meg's disappointment.

She had nearly forgotten about Ethan when she finally quitted the room and bid her companions good night. She was in the middle of asking a maid (Christine believed her name was Helen) to bring some fresh water to her room when she glanced to her left and saw one of the most devastatingly handsome men she'd ever laid eyes on. The maid nearly swooned when the gentleman smiled and against Christine's will, her senses grew fuzzy and she was taken in.

"I was wondering if one of you ladies could help me. My name is Irving." He bowed gallantly and both returned with the most graceful curtsy they could muster (the poor maid nearly toppled over).

Christine piped up first, trying to keep her voice steady: "My name is Christine. What can I do for you?"

Irving smiled; he had been 'aiming' if you will at the maid but he figured this lovely lady would suit his purposes just as well. "A friend of mine needs help actually. If you would allow me to lead the way?" He offered his arm to her. Christine smiled and took his arm. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she vaguely wondered if he had something to do with Ethan and a few worried thoughts about leaving with this stranger to who knew where yet when Irving glanced and smiled at her again, her senses and rational thought were numbed.

He spoke again. "I'm sure that it's nothing too serious so I shan't take up too much of your time. Thank you again for your kindness."

Christine blushed. "It's no problem at all, I assure you."

They took the quickest route down the cellar, Christine still too befuddled to raise any protest though alarm bells were ringing in the recesses of her mind, further drowned by her own giggles at Irving's subtle charm.

The two of them walked down the stairs arm in arm then the disquieting sense began to overcome the numbness in Christine's mind; something was definitely wrong here.

Irving disentangled himself from her. "I've done my part," he said in a bored, calloused voice. Christine stared at him for a moment, thoroughly confused and now growing frightened. "Can you leave me alone now?" he added in an impertinent tone to the same strange gentleman that Christine had seen before.

The man nodded slightly with an impassive look and Irving slumped over to the wall and slid down it as if exhausted, returning to his own little world.

Christine looked at him helplessly as someone grasped her arms and pushed her to her knees next to a pallet on the floor. Ethan was there and his situation hadn't improved any from what she saw. He stared at her with an odd look in his glazed brown eyes…

∞†∞

* * *

**Ramblings: **I did warn you. Don't know when the next part's coming but I shall do my best for it to be soon. Happy New Year, everyone! Much love, all. 

**_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_**


	22. Welcome and Unwelcome Interruptions

_Disclaimer: Same ol' thing. Don't own Leroux's characters and make no profit. Just writing for the sheer love of it. For this chapter, also don't own Traditional Welsh song, "All through the Night" which is rather lovely._

Hello again, everyone. Yes, that real life thing has been getting in the waylately and I will do my best to get out of this one update a month crap but thisterm ismore than a little busy (taking two lab courses, an extra class, and I'm a pledge for Sigma Alpha Iota, woo hoo!). My muse has been working on some original stuff lately too and I could not redirect her for all my efforts especially as she was doing a splendid job. Also had a horrible time trying to keep to character and whatnot in this bit. Anyway, done with the excuses. A thousand thank you's to reviewers and the 45 people who have this story marked as a favorite. I never thought I would see 300 hundred reviews; thanks so much to everyone.

Another fairly packed chapter, sorry to have left everyone at the end of the last chapter like that for this long.

Last time:

_Christine looked at him helplessly as someone grasped her arms and pushed her to her knees next to a pallet on the floor. Ethan was there and his situation hadn't improved any from what she saw. He stared at her with an odd look in his glazed brown eyes…_

And now:

* * *

Erik had an odd feeling, something tingling in the back of his mind. He shrugged it off until he felt it again and turned slightly. Philippe tired to look innocent but Erik could still see one of Emma's feathers clutched in his hand. Erik glared at him then glanced down at his other hand, the one with the broken finger. Philippe took the hint and shrugged with a smile, dropping the feather.

All the same, Erik upped his speed and soon made it past Margaret, who was guarding the cellar, and down the stairs. When he heard a small screech, he whipped his attention to Ethan's corner, watching for a moment as _her_ head was forced closer to Ethan's chest, exposing her bare neck and pushed into his reach.

Faster than anyone could blink, Erik roared and shoved Dane away so violently that he smacked against the wall with an audible solid THUD. "Christine!"

Ethan flopped his head back in mild disappointment and weakness but Erik saw none of it as he pulled the sobbing Christine into his arms, running his fingers through her curls.

Aleta crossed her arms in front of her chest. "What do you think you're doing?"

Erik thought quickly. "Didn't Donald say we were not to go near the Baron's guests? Look at her gown; a maid wouldn't wear something like this. She has to be one of his guests." Sure enough, the gown that Meg had bought Christine would not be found in the wardrobe of anyone on a servant's salary; eating was usually more important.

"He's right," Donald agreed. "But what is she to you?"

Erik clutched her closer to his chest by means of response. Donald nodded in understanding, thinking back to the gypsy's reading.

"Will she cause any trouble?" Dane asked after picking himself up, seeing Donald's acceptance.

"No."

"Get her out of here," Aleta hissed, still frustrated with the whole situation. "And you had better find someone else for Ethan or offer yourself."

Erik nodded and gently pulled Christine to her feet. Philippe, who had been standing half-frozen watching the scene, made a move to help but saw that there was little else he could do and opted to let Erik handle the situation. Erik still held Christine tightly and made his way up the stairs. Glancing about quickly, he found a small room that looked to be of little importance and was thankfully unoccupied. He sat down on a chaise next to her and let her cry into his shoulder.

"He was going to…to…Erik, is it really you?" she asked hesitantly as a few frightened and relieved tears merged and slid down her cheek.

He smiled comfortingly as she looked up at him. "Yes, Christine."

She closed her eyes and the last of her tears were forced out. "I just wanted to be sure." Erik handed her his handkerchief and she decided (as she used it) that it certainly smelled like him, a scent she could never quite describe. As she collected herself, a thousand old questions flooded back into her mind. For the moment though, none of them really mattered; she was in his arms again and that was enough.

Erik held his beloved as if it were the last time they would meet, so grateful that he had arrived in time and that though she had stopped crying she hadn't left his embrace; quite the opposite she drew closer when she could. He sang softly to her:

"_Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee, all through the night. Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night. Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and vale in slumber sleeping, I, my loving vigil keeping all through the night._

"_While the moon her watching is keeping, all through the night. While the weary world is sleeping, all through the night. O'er thy spirit gently stealing visions of delight revealing breathes a pure and holy feeling, all through the night."_

There was little need to sing more; Christine's eyes had closed and her breathing was soft and regular. Not wanting to leave her in this room where she would likely catch a chill, he lifted her up, still humming the Welsh lullaby. Though it was probably not the best of ideas, he wandered around in hopes of finding her room. Erik bumped into a maid eventually.

"Sir, your humming is lovely," she whispered, a glazed look about her eyes.

Erik stared at her for a moment. The maid never blinked nor did she seem to be looking at anything really. Erik shook his head lightly and requested to be shown to Mlle. Daáe's room. She led the way without a word or a curtsy for that matter. Shifting the unconscious Christine in his arms, he smiled as she nuzzled closer to his chest. The maid's hand reached for the doorknob and whisked the door open, still in a daze. After laying Christine gently down on her bed, Erik returned his attention to the maid who was still standing rigidly near the door.

"Return to your duties and forget you ever saw me," Erik ordered, hoping that his musical hypnotism was strong enough to do the trick. She inclined her head lightly, still with eerie glassy eyes, before turning sharply and heading down the corridor. The corner of his mouth quirked, satisfied with the results and vaguely wondering how the other gift the gypsy spoke of could be much more useful than this.

Erik sat down on the bed and gazed at Christine's face, admiring how her hair splayed out on the pale yellow pillow. He reached out and ran his fingers along the side of her face, resting on her cheek and rubbing his thumb lightly on her skin. She was such a troublemaker, he mused, but he loved her all the same. To give up would have been so much easier but lacking, without a doubt.

Christine's hand covered his and she murmured his name, slowly pulling back into consciousness. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, pulling back to see the eyes that he'd seen again and again in his dreams and a smile that reminded him of a warm fire on a winter's day.

"I'm sorry. Must have dozed off," she mumbled through a yawn.

"You've done nothing wrong, Christine. You just cried yourself out," he covered.

"I suppose so." She sat up and made a brief attempt to settle her hair before turning back to Erik. "What are you doing here? How long have you been here? Were you traveling with _them_?"

Erik sighed. "You really don't want to get involved in this, Christine."

Christine fell silent for a moment. "You never answered my question last time we met, Erik." He cringed lightly but said nothing. Christine pressed further: "What are you? You at least have Erik's appearance, his voice, and his memories, from what I can tell but…" She glanced away for a moment, trying to phrase her question but eventually settling for "You're not human so what are you?"

Erik tore his eyes from hers and glanced at the moon and the reflected light cascading through Christine's window. "I am one of them."

Christine closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the affirmation to soak in. She had her suspicions but needed to be sure: "What are they, Erik?"

He turned around to face her again. "We are vampires, Christine, hiding from the sun and feeding on the blood of mortals to sustain our own immortality."

Christine closed her eyes and covered her mouth with her hands, nodding slightly. "I really don't know what to think, Erik," she whispered finally. "Erik, I love you. Know that I love you. I just…" she faltered, searching for some way to explain that she was overwhelmed.

He grimaced inwardly but kept his face as unrevealing as his mask. All of his senses and earlier trepidations were slipping away, having her so close; his proclamation that he would not involve her in the affairs of vampires faded into the background until the only clear part of the picture was her.

Angrily, Erik tore off his mask and sneered when Christine flinched involuntarily. "You had no problem when you thought I was an angel and perhaps less when you thought I was a ghost. As a man or a vampire, I am an obvious failure for your acceptance, trust, or love for that matter." He rose to his feet and started for the door, replacing his mask. Christine, hot on his heels, reached for his hand.

"No! Erik, don't go yet!"

He tired half-heartedly to shake her grip but she refused to let go.

"Erik, I've made mistakes. God knows, I've made mistakes but I'm not the only one. No, I don't know what to think about all this but I'm damn sure that I don't want you to leave."

Erik raised an eyebrow, surprised at Christine's choice of words, but he stopped resisting enough for the determined look on her face to soften.

This was madness, he decided; he needed to _know_.

"What do you want, Christine?" Erik asked her quietly. She bit her lip but said nothing. "What is it that you want, Christine?" Using the hand that still clutched his own, he pulled her sharply in and locked her to his chest with his arms, hungrily covering her lips with his own and tasting a sweet sacred bliss long denied. Her arms snaked around his neck and pulled him closer still. Reluctantly he pulled away, panting slightly, and rested his forehead against hers.

"I've made myself clear. I never wanted more than to wake up next to you, to hear your voice in the other room, to…to…" Erik gave up on his soliloquy, lost in the look in Christine's eyes. "I've made myself clear," he repeated. "But what do you want of me? I can no longer tolerate a fickle attitude. I tire of your games; make your choice and I will honor it. I'll give you some time to _think_." Next to her cheek, he murmured, "I love you," in a pained tone before abruptly breaking away and marching toward the door, not daring to look back.

Just as he was reaching for the handle, there was a dull knock on the wooden door. "Christine, may I come in?"

"How does this always happen?" Erik grumbled under his breath as he turned and leapt into Christine's mirror, hiding behind the reflection of the bed. Christine stared after him for a moment before Raoul knocked again and brought her to her senses.

"Just a moment," she cried, meeting Erik's eyes in the mirror before reaching for the handle. "Is something wrong, Raoul?"

"Nothing's wrong, dearest. You've just been so distracted today that I wanted to make sure everything was well. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Raoul." Christine pulled her face into a smile, hoping that it looked natural. "I've just been thinking."

"About what?" he asked casually, walking about the room.

Christine searched her mind for a plausible subject but was running dry, especially with the mild panic settling around her senses as Raoul walked by the mirror again. Instead, she looked guiltily at her fingers as she twisted them nervously and sat down on the bed.

Raoul smiled reassuringly and sat down next to her. "Christine. I told you. You won't have to worry about that monster ever again. He's sure to be nowhere near here. I've seen to a few precautions and he wouldn't dare set foot within an acre of this house."

Christine, far from reassured, prayed that Erik wouldn't rise to the opportunity. Too late, she saw his lean leg stretch out from the mirror's surface out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you so sure, boy?"

Raoul's smile shrank away and his face turned the shade of old parchment. His jaw seemed to loose function for the moment, hanging uselessly open, and Christine watched on helplessly.

Finally, Raoul regained his senses and stood pointing an accusing finger. "You! What are you doing here? I'll drive a stake through your heart, slice off your head, and stuff your mouth with garlic!"

"Harsh. Seems a bit like overkill to me, little brother," Philippe drawled from the doorway. Raoul sat down heavily on the bed. "Really, is all _that_ necessary? You're going to catch a fly if you don't close your mouth, you know." Raoul snapped his jaw shut.

Philippe turned his attention to Erik: "They sent me to find you. First off, Aleta's angry that you haven't brought anyone back for Ethan. I suspect she has a deeper attachment to him but more importantly, 'Bastian says that Emma's spotted some trouble heading our way. There's still a group out there and all able hands are ordered to help make sure everyone gets to shelter, not that it would be a terrible loss if a few furry heads didn't make it back to their pack."

Erik nodded and shared a significant look with Christine before throwing open the doors to Christine's small balcony.

"Ah, one more thing," Philippe added cheerfully before shifting tone and audience, "Should either of you speak of this to any one, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur." Christine and Raoul flinched and Philippe and Erik again swiftly took the shape of bats and flew off into the night's sky.

"A disaster beyond your imagination will occur?" Erik questioned lightly once they were soaring over the plains.

"Yes," Philippe replied smugly. "Found a couple of your old letter drafts back at your little hole beneath the opera. Sounded like a worthy line."

* * *

**Authoress rambling:** Couldn't resist at the end there. That and having the whole gang back together again. ;)

Until next time. Take care.

**_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_** (Reviews will be contributed to Ethan and IrvingRelief Fund, a charity created by the Erik and Philippe Fanclub, for the aid of wounded vampires everywhere.)


	23. Repurcussions

_Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine. For something new though,then credit falls to my brain and my muse who sometimes chooses to dwell there. Writing for the sheer joy of it and not for profit...yadda bladdah. _

_Hey all! Now that my -:incoherent grumbles:- midterms are over (we're on tri-mesters), I'm feeling much more inclined to write. I figured a short update was better than a really late long one...someone correct me if I'm mistaken. _

_Seriously considering advice from last chapter to donate Raoul to Ethan & Irving Relief fund but he gets off today. ;) A thousand thank you's to reviewers! You rock my world! _

_Again, short update. Hope you enjoy it anyway. _

* * *

Erik helped Philippe down the steps into the cellar, his companion grimacing with each step but strangely not complaining. Thankfully, no one else was seriously wounded. Aleta stood from her post near Ethan's bedside and began to inspect Philippe's wounds once he was set down against the wall. 

"What happened?" she breathed.

"Werewolves."

"And where are the others?" she demanded.

"Somewhere between chasing them away and trying not to lead them here, I imagine. I took him from the fray and didn't look back."

Aleta frowned but started to doctor Philippe's wounds. "They had better find shelter soon," she murmured after some time.

Erik nodded but returned to his own thoughts. True Philippe was the only one _seriously _wounded (when Erik had left, that is) but everyone had been smacked down from the sky or slashed by a vicious claw across the chest or scarred in some other way. Shifting out of Aleta's way, Erik manually inspected his calf and tried not to bring her attention toward himself; the beast's teeth had ripped through more than his trousers but Erik was not about to let pain stand in his way for long…nor sit and listen to the collective worries about whether the werewolf "virus" could jump the species barrier, so to speak. He swiped a few clean bandages while Aleta was distracted with Philippe.

For all the Circle's efforts, only two were brought down and the vampires took more overall damage; one or two were easily disregarded by such a large pack, not that werewolves were particularly known for close family ties.

Erik had just finished wrapping his wound when Aleta turned around: "Donald will not be pleased. You shouldn't have left. It might be nearly impossible to earn your way back into his good graces, especially after that episode with that mortal harlot earlier today."

Anger flickered behind Erik's eyes but he merely glared, interrupted from any response as the remaining members of their group poured into the basement. Dane carried an unconscious Margaret and set her down next to Ethan, three jagged streaks bleeding freely at his exposed shoulder. Irving had a hand clenched over his ear, hand stained dark; he released his grip and idly noted that the wound had closed before staring at nothing (Erik recalled that Irving had been flung into a group of gnarly trees in the midst of the fight so his injury was not sustained directly by any werewolf). Annabelle's normally lovely appearance was rumpled and disheveled. Sebastian held the tiny body of his sparrow Emma, unheeding of his own injuries. Donald scanned his troops critically with fire behind his eyes, a new scar ran down his face with a smaller cut running parallel, both covered in a layer of crusty blood.

"Any confirmed bites?" he barked.

Erik kept his silence as no one confessed if they had.

"Aleta, will you confirm?"

As graciously as possible, she replied, "I'm a bit busy at the moment. It can wait."

Erik relaxed slightly, recalling what Philippe had told him of Aleta's abilities in matters of the truth; a lie would not withstand her judgement. Philippe lay with his eyes closed, his breathing regular. However annoying the man was, Erik was glad to have a friend and against his better judgement would be sorry to lose him. It was possible, too, that he felt a bizarre twist of empathy for an outcast among outcasts though Erik doubted it.

"You!" Donald rounded on Erik. "Why did you leave?"

Coolly, Erik replied, "I merely brought Philippe here."

Disgruntled that Erik didn't cower in the face of his anger, Donald continued in an increasingly dangerous tone, "You are not to abandon your brethren in such a cowardly manner again, is that clear?"

The pair stared down for a few tense moments as the rest of the room (those conscious) watched uneasily.

"I am not one to follow orders, _sir_," Erik finally intoned darkly. "My own judgement has brought me this far."

"But it will not take you much further should you match against mine. That you will be certain of."

Erik said nothing, caught between the desire to put the last word in and the knowledge that it wouldn't do much good.

"I repeat: you will not abandon us again." Erik's point that taking Philippe to safety was far from abandoning but was cut off as Donald continued: "We were grossly outnumbered and you managed to strangle one to death by yourself. Your strength, speed, and experience are needed, not your mind or any noble attempts it happens to concoct."

Erik said nothing, neither consenting nor arguing further. Donald broke his gaze and returned his attention to the wounded.

"You shouldn't have done that, you know," Philippe mumbled, eyes still shut. "You'll just make trouble for us and while you certainly don't seem to mind, I will. The whole 'I take orders from no one' thing seems heroic and all that but not when that's—" he wagged a finger in Donald's general direction "—what you're up against."

"You and I both know that neither of us were ones to listen to reason."

Philippe made an attempt to laugh that sounded more like a grunt before opening his eyes. "I suppose I should thank you," he stated seriously before coughing briefly. "But as it stands, my ribs feel cracked and I'm in no such mood to be courteous."

Erik shook his head.

Donald spoke again, raising his voice for the benefit of the group: "We shall call for reinforcements."

The members of the Circle, those who could, shuffled over to Donald and stood in a circle. Irving swayed momentarily, caught by the ever-disgruntled Sebastian and steadied by the never-disgruntled Dane. Donald muttered something unintelligible but a copy of the same message flashed in Erik's mind. There were no words but the message was clear. Directions. War. Haste.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress Rambling:** Power Struggle, power struggle. Erik's just not the sort to fall into line and quail at authority, come on. 

What's to come: more vamps, more werewolves, more Christine, but you knew that already. ;) Cast your vote: how many werewolf casualties before the end? How many vampire casualties? and Who's first?

On that happy note, Happy Valentine's day! (espeically to all the other singles out there!) and take care!

**_Love it or hate it, Please let me know! _**(Any willing blood donors to help the wounded? -:wink:- okay...reviews still going to Ethan & Irving Relief Fund to help ease the suffering of ailing vampires everywhere)


	24. Planning the Next Course of Action

_Disclaimer: Yep still not mine. Original credit goes to M. Leroux. New characters and the strange postion I've put everyone in is mine. Am but a poor college student and write for the sheer joy of it, earning no money from this, yadda bladda. _

_Hello all. Anyone up for an update? It's finals week and I'm taking a break. _

_And I keep forgetting to ask, anyone catch the nod to Dracula a couple chunks back? Raoul's method of destroying Erik is how it works in the book according to the doc. _

_A thousand thank-you's again to everyone who's reviewed. I'm sincerly hoping to be a little faster with updating next term here but we'll have to see what happens. _

_Anyway, on with the show. Enjoy!_

* * *

Out of the corner of her eye, Christine watched the sun rise. For the second night in a row, she had failed to gain any substantial rest. The previous night, Raoul had been so distraught and frightened then he swore to guard her lest the blackguard show his fiendish face again. Christine finally forced him out, with her assurances that although his bravery was much appreciated the whole idea would be quite improper. He settled for guarding her door and Christine could hear his even breathing when she lay still. Finally alone with her thoughts, she replayed the whole event in her mind…well _one_ part in particular, she thought guiltily, or perhaps two. The emotion in his voice and the last gentle brush of his lips as he pulled away still etched perfectly in her memory. 

Perhaps he was right, she thought with a sigh. Mixed signals weren't entirely her problem though, were they? Christine sighed again. Oh, she had no doubt that she loved Erik but all of these changes had sent her head whirling. The next day had been difficult. She took many walks to clear her head and shook off the worries of her companions (turning their focus to Raoul instead who vehemently refused to say what had him on such an obvious edge). She spent the last night in a very light slumber, half afraid and half praying that Erik would return. The entire situation was a mess. Before this whole debacle had begun…or perhaps it was just continuing along where it had left off, when Erik was only a heavenly voice and guardian spirit.

He was definitely right in one regard, this confusion had gone on far enough. It was time to grow up and make a decision. Christine pounded her pillow in light frustration; she wasn't really any further than she was the night before and now more than a little sleep deprived. She closed her eyes and thought perhaps she could grow used to a nocturnal lifestyle at this rate, drifting in a semi-conscious state and pulling the covers over her eyes.

Allowing her subconscious to wander she began to daydream, trying to picture what her life would be like. She just had to stick to her choice though it would be almost easier to choose neither or magically disappear. Yes, to disappear would have been convenient. Erik would find her though. He always managed to find her even when she could manage to isolate herself from the rest of the world. Raoul would try, bless his generous heart, but Erik would find her…and ultimately make her realize that she did not want to be alone or that problems needed to be faced.

_Tread softly and carefully, Christine,_ she coached herself; _he has given you his heart to walk on._

The answer was still there, even if Christine couldn't yet accept it. She knew, however much she wanted to deny it in light of what Erik had become, that she had made her decision some time ago, before she had even returned to Paris. All that was left was to acknowledge it aloud and to those who deserved answers.

Allowing her thoughts to drift further from her control, Christine finally fell into real sleep.

∞†∞

It didn't take long to double the strength of the gathered vampire army. One came that very night, moments after the call was made (Ezekiel had a mild talent for prophesy and had started traveling about three nights before) and barely made it before the sun. He was a strange one to be sure, mumbling to himself and having difficulty focusing on conversations and virtually anything for that matter though worth listening to. He seemed to have an unspoken status of respect that wasn't enforced by anyone or any particular action but was there all the same. The second night, Ezekiel sat down by Erik and whispered, "Don't ask why. Just do," before his eyes unfocused and he stared off at something no one else could see. He spoke with Irving and made the man smile and bantered briefly with Philippe (who was recovering nicely, despite what he had suffered).

"I know what you're thinking," Philippe said smugly, glancing up from his pallet on the floor, his arms crossed behind his head.

"Oh?" Erik replied noncommittally.

"You're wondering why he isn't part of the Circle, admit it." Erik shrugged but neither confirmed nor denied the claim. "Hmph. Well, the answer's fairly simple. He didn't _want_ to. Could you believe it? Might be for the best though; some probably thought he was a little too spacey. Notice how his mind seems to wander? Puts followers ill at ease when the leader starts talking about yams in the middle of an important discussion about the punishment for traitors. Still, he seems to fit in anyway. You could learn something from him, I'm sure. I mean you're weird but you don't fit in quite so well and—"

"Philippe, you must be feeling better if you can jabber on like that."

He laughed at that, before succumbing to a coughing fit.

Several new faces came the next night from a few different nationalities. Erik left their names alone, preferring not to put himself in the spotlight, knowing that just as many vampires as humans would stare at his mask; he had no doubt that they would have his story soon enough, most likely from Annabelle if they were smart. He and Philippe kept to the corner where Dane had moved all the randomly stored items that were initially resting in the cellar, the ornate mirror still betraying no one's presence.

As much as he'd like to believe that he wasn't thinking about Christine, he found it difficult to believe such a preposterous lie. It was all up to her now and he vowed not to interfere with her decision and that he would try to respect it…though part of him knew that he couldn't be sure of that this time. She was in the same house and it was slowly driving him mad; he could probably even make it down the corridor in the middle of the afternoon, especially if he avoided the skylights or just travel along the ceiling to save the trouble. Unfortunately, there was no plausible excuse he could give to wander around and the Elders of the Circle kept a close watch on the door. Furthermore, many of his new "kinsmen" came in voraciously hungry, having flown quite some distance without stopping to feed, and he would not be the one to put Christine in further danger. Philippe hinted at the possibility of offering his brother but to his credit did not further the option.

Any human blood would have been snatched up immediately; the injured vampires had complained to great lengths their distaste of animal blood but no one could afford to be discovered in such a vulnerable position and a pile of bloodless corpses, it was agreed, was far from subtle. Only one maid had been claimed so far; Aleta countermanded when Ethan's condition took a turn for the worse. All for nothing though. He faded slowly to dust and beyond anyone's power to restore. Aleta was a good actress and though Erik appreciated a good actress, he still saw past her brave façade. Ezekiel comforted her absently, still apparently saying the right thing, and only then did tears work their way down her cheeks. Margaret had regained consciousness and nearly bit through her lip when they set her arm; Erik had to respect her tolerance. She saw to the newcomers with her arm in a sling, speaking one language and another, her gift revealed at last. Donald spent much of his time with Dane discussing quietly under their breath when he wasn't speaking with the new folk. Another vampire named Yuri joined them later and when he became too frustrated, Margaret would translate for him; he was some sort of master tactician by the sound of it.

In the afternoon, three days after the call was made, Sebastian rudely woke everyone in the cellar. The battle plan had apparently been decided.

"We will wait. Closer to the new moon. Yes, they have found a way to transform without the power of a full moon but without at least some of those rays, perhaps they will be more vulnerable," Dane began. "This will be dangerous for us as well; without the light from the moon visibility may be more of an issue but more importantly the lack of lunar energy will also affect our abilities."

Erik listened but didn't pay rapturous attention; at least he wasn't as obvious as Philippe who was picking dirt out from under his fingernails. Ezekiel was humming a strange tune and rocking in place but his glazed gaze was nonetheless focused forward.

The plan was relatively simple, striking at the new moon and taking out as many as possible in one go before going through a specific targeting method where one werewolf was picked off at a time. The whole ordeal was risky and half hearted suggestions of emissary action were glared into submission, especially those thirsty for revenge against Ethan.

One question, however, did catch Erik's attention. A new vampire, Rebecca, spoke up tentatively, "What happens if a vampire is bitten by a werewolf? Will he or she transform?"

Donald was quiet for a moment. Ezekiel answered her instead in a strangely bouncy voice: "Well actually no one's survived long enough to tell for certain, for one reason or another. One sir who died was thought to have shown beginning signs of a transformation but was lucky enough to die first from complications and the added stress on his body." He then retreated back into his own world, having put his two cents in the conversation.

"Lucky indeed," muttered a man standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and looking mildly uneasy.

"We'll just have to be careful and pray that we never find out," Donald added.

Erik unconsciously rubbed his injury; it certainly didn't do any good to worry about it now. The next full moon was some few days away.

The door to the cellar burst open and a young new vampire leaped down the stairs, saluting to Donald (obviously having been a soldier in a past life). "Sir! The tower watch has detected movement along the edges of the forest. The moon will rise soon and they could likely be aware of our position, sir."

"I see," Donald deadpanned. He glanced at Dane and Erik saw something that surprised him, a glimmer of fear in Donald's eyes; it was only there for an instant before it was quickly replaced with grim determination.

"That's the thing with plans," Philippe muttered, "They have this nasty little habit of changing from time to time."

"Everyone, prepare yourselves and be ready. All able hands will defend our stronghold," Dane intoned emotionlessly.

The others broke away from the center of the group and nearly dove for their supplies. Erik stood where he was, leaning against the wall and nearly hidden in shadow but for the contrast of his white mask in the darkness.

Donald took several long strides and stood in front of Erik, closing in briefly to subconsciously intimidate him though Erik was visibly unfazed. Donald hissed through gritted teeth: "Everyone. That means you, too. You will follow orders this time. Am I clear?"

Erik made no reply and was mildly shocked when the normally-composed Donald seized his collar and thrust him against the wall. "We don't have time for this, you fool! _Not_ now. You might think you could lead this parade but _I_ am still the leader and you will follow orders. There is too much at stake for any childish acts of defiance."

Recovering quickly, Erik grasped his wrists and with a sharp twist released Donald's grip, smoothing out the fabric of his jacket after they had sprung apart. Donald made no more efforts to intimidate with violence. He closed his eyes before resuming a glare and an attempt toward reason, his frustration and anxiety eating away at his normal dignity. "These are your kin now. If we die, so will you."

Erik was unmoved.

"If you don't help us stop them, they will kill everyone in this house. And I mean _everyone_, not just those of us hiding in the cellar."

That did it. Erik closed his eyes briefly and gave a short nod, acknowledging that Christine was worth protecting if nothing else. He still made no move toward his few belongings which irritated Donald all the more and gave Erik a sense of perverse pleasure to defy the man's authority, to make him work for it. Perhaps, he mused, he had had too much contact with Philippe.

∞†∞

* * *

Usual ramblings: I love Philippe. I love Erik. Anyway...I do actually have an end in sight; sort of a bittersweet feeling, you know what I mean? Not sure how many more chapters it will take to get there but we'll see. Depends on who my muse decides to kill off. ;)

**_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_** (Reviewersreceive a patented Erik and Philippe 'Get out of homework free' coupon, complete with vampire enforcers should the coupon not be recognized. Memorial service for Ethan will be held next Thursday.)

Take care, all.


	25. Waging Wars

_Disclaimer: same old thing. Don't own characters orignially created by Leroux. Originals and plot are mine. Earning no money from this and am poor college student writing for the joy of writing. _

Hello all! This is literally hot off the presses, I've been writing a little bit every day of my spring break and just finished at what is now nearly midnight here. Not too slow of an update, for me...

A thousand thank you's to reviewers! You all rock! Thank you again and again.

Anyway, on to battle. Hope you enjoy it.

Note: a little bit of blood in this chapter, I mean if you stab a werewolf, confetti doesn't burst out of his abdomen...ye be forwarned

* * *

The sun was setting and Christine was absently watching out the window, wondering if was hawk or a bat that she had just seen when she was again disrupted from her reveries and forced back to the current conversation. 

"I'm sorry, what we were talking of?" she asked for fourth time that evening.

"Are you sure you're alright, Christine?" Meg fretted.

"Just a small headache, it will pass."

"Shall I fetch a doctor?" the Baron offered courteously.

"No, that won't be necessary. I've just been having trouble sleeping lately. I think I'll just turn in early tonight. Goodnight, everyone." Raoul rose from his chair to escort her but she added, "No, please don't trouble yourself Raoul."

"Christine, it's no trouble at all."

"Nothing's going to attack me in the hallways, Raoul," she knew that was a mistake as soon as she said it yet plowed on, "Please, enjoy our wonderful company, for my sake."

"Alright, Christine. If you're sure."

"Yes, thank you. I shall be better tomorrow."

"Perhaps you should follow the same idea, Raoul. You look as though you could do with some rest," Meg added, noting the dark circles that stood out under Raoul's eyes.

Though he looked as though he was about to refuse, his own yawn stifled his protests. He nodded reluctantly then sheepishly waved, meeting Christine at the door. He popped his head out and glanced both ways warily before entering the hallway, offering Christine his arm. Shaking her head, she took his arm and they both headed toward their respective rooms.

Madame Giry followed the couple with her eyes before returning back to her knitting. None of their excuses were holding up under her inspection, at least not at the same time or for this long. Something was certainly amiss.

Meg giggled absently already distracted from her concern, leaning instead toward the charm of her attentive companion. Her mother shook her head and excused herself as well, letting the two of them chat privately, even if the act bordered on the edge of impropriety to leave her daughter without a chaperone; still, she trusted the young man enough…and would cause him great bodily harm should he cross any lines.

Stuffing her knitting into her bag, she marched confidently down the hallway and knocked on Christine's door. With Christine's muffled reply, Madame Giry strode purposefully into the room. Christine brushed through her hair, obviously more caught in her tangled thoughts than the tangles in her tresses.

"My dear, will you not tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? Christine, you've been far from successful in hiding your discomfort, fatigue, and overall flightiness. More so than usual," she added with a gentle smile. "Have you not been sleeping well?"

"No, not at all actually."

"What have you done about it?"

"Nothing."

"I see. What do you plan to do?"

A strange smile crept over Christine's face. "I suppose I'll have to decide something."

When Christine turned away again, Danielle Giry, frustrated, burst out, "I wish you would tell me."

"I wish that I could."

"This isn't about Erik again, is it?"

Christine whipped her head around, confirmation in her momentarily frightened features. "I suppose it is. There are new complications."

"He's a man, dear. There are _always_ new complications."

She gave a small half-smile. "Perhaps, just not like this. I don't know about his soul anymore."

Madame Giry was quiet for a moment, wondering how much Christine knew and how much could just have been spoken ironically. She decided to go out on a limb: "It's difficult to say for those who aren't truly dead. I wonder if he even knows anymore."

Christine's eyes widened before focusing with an uncharacteristic anger. "You knew? You've known since Paris, haven't you? That's why you were so angry when I told you about what happened and why you didn't think I was just imagining things. Were you ever going to tell me?"

"It wasn't my place to say. I won't even ask why he's here. I told Erik not to drag you down into his underworld."

"Maybe I wanted to go," Christine mumbled.

Madame Giry's eyes widened. "Christine, you don't know what that means."

"Yes I do."

"You can't be serious."

"Why can't I? Why can't I be serious about this? I'm so tired of having this problem on my conscious for the past…God I don't know how long now."

"And Raoul?"

"Yes," Christine said sadly. "And Raoul. I really don't know what to do about him. There would be no way to let him down easily, would there?"

Madame Giry glanced at Christine skeptically and sighed. "If you're already decided, then you owe him the truth."

"And what would I tell him? Would I say that I'm willing to wander about with a vampire for the rest of my earthly life instead of becoming his wife, the mother of his children?"

"Are you? Is that what you want?"

Christine closed her eyes and sat down on the bed. "I don't know."

Madame Giry sat down next to her. "Tell me everything, Christine. Don't be ashamed, just tell me everything."

She nodded slowly then proceeded to pour out her heart to her surrogate mother, discovering that perhaps she really did know the answers all along, even if they weren't exactly easy or explainable, ultimately grateful for the relief on her heavy heart.

∞†∞

The before flight pep-talk had been far from reassuring. Apparently, biting was off limits, seeing as how no one was exactly certain what it would lead to. Furthermore, strangulation and other similar methods were not guaranteed to completely kill the creature. When the majority of the pack was down, a group of vampires was picked to either stab the creatures with a spike of silver (though everyone was supplied with at least one, brought by a vampire from Germany who had once been rather wealthy) or shoot it, for as long as the silver bullets held out, in order to be certain that werewolf wasn't coming back.

His face set in grim determination, Erik shifted into the form of a bat and followed after the strange hoard from the cellar. Philippe, next to him, flew more sluggishly than usual but was strangely excited.

"So how many drooling beasts are you going to take down?"

"Enough as necessary."

"Are you sure you don't want to swear revenge for the harm they did to you dear, dear friend Philippe and slaughter the whole pack? I bet Donald would give you a medal or something. Just what you needed." He added cheekily.

"Perhaps. You'd have to die first though, for it to be true revenge."

"And miss the action? No way."

Erik rolled his eyes and glanced about warily, receiving more input from his amazing hearing. Something was definitely down there and more than a few trees. He circled slowly around the area, ignoring Philippe for the time being and focusing on the task ahead, aware that it would be far from easy.

Donald led the flock away from the trees and the werewolves below followed, their upturned eyes glinting vaguely in what light there was. Erik counted about fourteen in all so the vampires had numbers on their side. However, Yuri, through Margaret, had said something along the lines that each werewolf was worth three vampires as far as fighting and endurance; they would have to use their minds, understanding that the forcibly transformed creatures were rather primitive and thought more with their claws than any attempt at strategy. But then, who knew what new powers this pack had found.

With a signaling screech, Donald swooped down upon the foremost of the pack, transmuting back into human form right before slamming feet first on top of the creature. While it struggled under his weight, Donald reached into his jacket and pulled out a silver stake, thrusting it deep into the werewolf's ululating body. He leapt off with amazing celerity. "Go! Leave no survivors," he commanded as the struck werewolf behind him melted into the shape of an ordinary man for his last few moments on earth. The other vampires soon followed suite, though few were as successful as their leader, the pack obviously capable of some basic learning.

Then there was chaos. Piercing shrieks, growls. Fur matted with blood and once fine clothes stained in streaks of sticky scarlet. Anger and basic rage in every hard glare and vicious snarl.

Philippe landed just outside the group and took careful aim with his small pistol, wary to immerse himself in the thick so soon. Erik kept to the skies longer than the rest, still searching for his unsuspecting victim. From the west, there was movement. Screeching out his warning, Erik headed for the large horde advancing to aid their brethren-beasts' cause. A pack of fourteen was unheard of, but the reinforcements would surely triple the werewolf numbers at least. They could count corpses later.

Landing at a run, Erik made for the first of the group, a silver stake gripped tightly in his palm. Impaling the first, he leapt over the falling body and plunged the silver into the body of another werewolf and continued to run against the stream, not lessening his pace. He stabbed the stake with a sickening slide into the shoulder of one who then howled wildly, flailing its arms; one lucky stroke smacked Erik squarely in the chest, knocking him off-course and nearly to be trampled by the hoard.

A mighty tug at his collar hoisted him to his feet. Ezekiel waggled a finger, "You're not supposed to die tonight. Go play nice, now." Momentarily perplexed, Erik stared until Ezekiel's glazed eyes focused and he swung an arm to the side, thrusting his supplied stake into the monster's throat. "Go on, play now," he urged, shooing Erik on with his hands.

Shrugging, Erik returned his attention to the battle. Silver may have been poisonous to the beasts but they would fight until the bitter end, a wounded werewolf adding up to a more dangerous creature. All the same, a handful of bodies still spanned over the once quiet hillside, vampire and once-werewolf alike. His stake still imbedded in one werewolf's shoulder, Erik reached for his lasso. One creature was eager to slash Ezekiel from behind and Erik could hear a light "Thank you!" tossed over Ezekiel's shoulder just before the rope settled around the creature's neck and, with a quick jerk at the rope, resulted in a loud crack. The light left the werewolf's eyes before he even hit the ground, then melted slowly back into the shape of a man. Several of the other vampires appeared to be having little luck but for a handful who slashed purposefully and accurately. Margaret, arm still in a sling, stood next to Philippe as they attempted to pick off those they could. Dane walked from one side to the other, reaching out with bit of silver and side-stepping when necessary. Annabelle had a claw mark down her cheek, which somehow only gave her an exotic look, rather than mar her looks. Irving lay still on the ground, neither confirmed one way or another but there was little time to check.

One werewolf in the center of the mass raised his head and gave a long cry to the heavens. It must have been a signal of some sort, because all the other wolves raced for the center and began attacking from a new angle (the look of surprise was forever frozen on Yuri's face). Evidently, the werewolves had chosen a leader of sorts, another "unheard of" refuted. Donald tried to manage over the circle of beasts but was met in the air, both trying to rip at the other. A few others made the attempt but Erik didn't bother, instead melting into a shadow and sliding underneath their claws.

This werewolf didn't look much different to Erik though it did have a burnished piece of silver jutting out from its shoulder. The other werewolves surrounding it were otherwise engaged in battle and Erik pulled the rope taut in his fists.

Then something unexpected happened. A strange ball of light emerged from behind the beast's ear and it slumped to the ground with a sigh, suddenly human. The man curled defensively but Erik was momentarily more interested in the speck of light that zipped around his head before landing behind his ear. He tried to grab the creature but met with no success.

Then there was a voice in his head: "_You tried to strangle this one before but I would not let him die. I will not let him die yet, even though you have struck him down with silver…unless he is no longer useful. Perhaps you will make a better host._"

"What are you?" Erik demanded aloud.

"_Soon to be your new master, yes there is much mischief we can do. I can see it all in your thoughts._"

"What are you?" Erik repeated with gritted teeth, furious that this something should invade his privacy in such a manner.

"_If you must know…well, I'd still rather not tell you. Sprites do as they please._" The little voice made an offensive sound before continuing to murmur bits of its approval as it rooted through his memories. Strange flashes of times past floated through Erik's conscious, many events that he did not wish to relive. With a great cry of effort, he forced the creature from his head.

The little ball of light swooped about with a few angry squeaks before nearing the man it had left. The man had just begun to recover, glancing about as if seeing the world for the first time.

"I'm free?" he whispered. The ball of light whizzed closer and landed behind the man's ear. "No! Not again. Don't make me change again!" He clutched his head pitifully. He then turned his eyes to Erik: "Sir! If you could show me mercy, kill me now before…before," the poor man's speech dissolved into horrible yells which became more animalistic yelps as his body expanded and stretched unnaturally. The man's irises shifted from blue to black, the white turning yellow. Flecks of spit fell from the beast's vicious teeth as it slowly turned into a warped smile.

The creature laughed, a guttural, jeering growl of a laugh. "I saw much more in your mind than your abilities, Monsieur le Fantôme." It then turned and sprinted away, four feet pounding on the ground…directly toward the Baron's manor.

A flash of honest-to-God terror jolted through Erik's veins as he rocketed after, flying fast and hard to get to Christine before the werewolf.

* * *

_Authoress rambling:_ Yikes...anyway, I thought I'd throw that nice little curve in there...or rather my muse did. She's so smart. Anyway, take care everyone...I really can't think of anything I want to say. 

The usual: **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_** (Reviewers get a bonus homework coupon and a werewolf plushie with removable sprite, pull out your silver bullets because this adorable little werewolf plushie will attack your heart)


	26. Relief, for the Moment

Hark! I beseech thee to recall that such persons here are not under my jurisdiction. Verily, the characters of this world originate in the mind of one Gaston Leroux and I am but a lowly college student who finds joy in their manipulation.

Hey all. Behold! I just hope that a) my muse keeps this up and b) my schedule will allow me to work on it...it's been nice so far.

And I can't say it enough: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I can't believe that this story is on 54 favorites lists!

Bit of a shorter chunk this time but it seemed like a logical stopping point. Enjoy (that is if people haven't given up on me)!

* * *

With one last hug, Madame Giry walked out the door, bearing with her some of Christine's burden. Much more at ease, Christine glanced at the clock in her room; considering the hour, she resolved to have a long talk with Raoul in the morning. Absently, Christine riffled through her provided armoire and her gowns that hung inside, trying to decide which suited best for the next day. Satisfied, she pulled out a casual dress and hung it on the door. She returned to sit in front of her vanity, wiping away the remains of cathartic tears. 

As Christine dragged the brush slowly through her curls, she heard something. She froze for a moment, trying to determine firstly what it was and secondly its origin. The sound stopped…then the strange scritching started again. It was an odd squeak, not like a mouse but of something hard rubbed against glass. That conclusion made, she whipped her attention to the window and the little balcony.

There was nothing there, of course. What could possibly leap up to this level? Her heart froze in her throat; what if Erik was trying to reach her? Tossing a robe over her shoulders and struggling to shove her arms through the sleeves, Christine walked over to the balcony and cautiously stepped out into the chilly air, oblivious to the marks left on the glass by the trespasser's sharp claws.

The night was clear with an occasional breeze and there was no obvious sign of Erik, no rose or, what would have been preferable, the man himself. Sighing, she leaned on the cast iron railing, hearing faint sounds of…something…quite far away.

Then Christine heard something else…a harsh breathing from behind, as though someone were trying to catch their breath; perhaps Erik had come after all. Turning around, Christine's smile melted.

The creature, hunched on all fours, grinned its demonic smile and watched her, ready to pounce at any moment.

"Go on, you precious thing," it rasped. "Scream. It won't do you any good now."

She took his advice and let off a bloodcurdling soprano shriek.

The monster bounded off the ledge and seized her about the waist. He landed softly despite the jump and ran awkwardly on three legs, holding her body in place over his shoulder with the other.

Something stopped them. Christine flew out of his grasp and was caught in a pair of arms, a set she was familiar with. The werewolf howled and reached blindly behind himself, trying to grasp something that glinted in the dark. Setting her down, Erik glanced behind with a look that meant several things at once, predominately "everything will be alright" and "you'd better find some cover while I take care of this." She obeyed the unspoken command and hid behind a large rock, peering carefully over the top.

"If you move a little to the left, you'll have a better view…and you won't be blocking mine," a voice behind her remarked.

Eyes wide with fear, Christine followed the voice.

"Oh, come now, Christine. You should see your face. This may sound cliché but you look as though you've seen a ghost."

"Philippe!"

"But I suppose that's partly my fault. The last few times that I saw you, I sort of threatened your life."

"What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I guess. Watching the show." He glanced over at Erik. "Oh, that was close. Sure knows what he's doing. It's just damn unfair that he makes it all look so easy."

Christine laughed, an honest laugh, something that she hadn't felt in some time.

∞†∞

Erik had heard her scream echo across the landscape and it spurred him to greater speeds in sheer desperation and more still when he saw the werewolf bolting from the manor. He had been so much closer moments before but an updraft had caught him off-guard, thereby allowing the werewolf to gain a greater lead while he fluttered about trying to reorient himself. With all the agility he could muster, he switched directions and flew after the running beast, the creature's gait shortened by the load he carried. Erik then shoved a dagger into the werewolf's shoulder, a weapon he had kept concealed unless it was absolutely necessary. The strike had its desired effect, the creature halted as it howled in pain, but the inertia of the sudden stop sent Christine soaring. Pushing off of his prey, Erik took the force of Christine's fall, cushioning her with his body.

Setting her down gently, he took one last look at her in a manner he had hoped was reassuring before directing his attention again to his antagonist. His peripheral vision was hindered by his mask but he did hear an exclamation of surprise that was at least some distance back so he reasoned Christine had found cover.

The werewolf panted, intermixed with a few growling chuckles. "You cannot win. No matter what happens to this body, I will find another. I would rather claim yours; you've proven yourself worthy. But this woman would be in the way."

"You will not touch her," Erik growled, equally ferocious.

"We shall see."

Sharp and searching jaws lunged for Erik but he side-stepped the creature gracefully, ready to meet another attack as it turned again. Pushing off of the ground, Erik landed a palm on the creature's shoulder while his other hand grasped the hilt of his dagger, yanking it out as he shoved the werewolf down and landed deftly on his feet some few feet away. The creature turned to Erik with, if possible, an even angrier fiery glare. With its long claws, it grazed over the now freely bleeding wound, the knife having blocked much of the flow, and glanced at the glittering red reflecting the moon's rays. It held up two coated fingers to Erik.

"Want to taste?"

Snarling in disgust, Erik charged the werewolf again. He struck out several times, lunging quickly enough to inflict some damage before returning to a safer distance, much to the outrage of his opponent. The beast seized his arm and flung him straight into a trunk of a nearby tree. Momentarily stunned, Erik fumbled for his dropped blade.

A paw smacked him hard squarely on his chest and pinned him to the tree. "It won't be long, you know," the feral voice taunted. "The other sprites will either control or slaughter the vampires. Either way, we win. Humans are doomed anyway, why save that chit? She'll die in a few years, no matter what you do. Nothing lasts forever."

Groping discreetly, Erik's hand finally closed about the dagger. "Some things last forever. I hope your pain is one of them." He plunged the dagger into the beast's eye with one ferocious swing and smoothly yanked the blade out, rolling from the werewolf's grasp as it clutched its face, blood leaking through its fingers. The other paw slashed blindly, finally scraping across Erik's chest, shredding his clothes and grazing his skin.

Incensed, Erik reached for his lasso and, using a tree for leverage, leaped over the werewolf. A bloodstained paw reached out reflexively and snatched his leg from the air, disrupting Erik's trajectory. The beast held him in the air for a moment, perhaps delighting in his momentary upper-hand.

"One thing your memories didn't completely explain was why you wear the mask. There were always terrible consequences when it was removed but no true image," the werewolf growled in a low voice. The werewolf reached for Erik's head but, unfazed, Erik took one of the creature's overly large fingers on its paw and wrenched it until he heard a small snap. The werewolf dropped him, but Erik flipped over to land on his feet, already running behind the creature. The werewolf, having learnt something it seemed, whipped around…backhanding Erik squarely across the face and sending his mask askew. The werewolf stopped and stared, distracted long enough for Erik to secure a choking rope about its neck.

"Gawk all you like. It's the last thing you'll ever see."

Rasping for breath, the creature still managed to chuckle darkly. "From this body perhaps, it no longer suits me. I will continue to strike at you any way I can. Mark me, you will not be allowed to interfere with the course already set in motion." His lasso suddenly slackened as the werewolf shifted back into the normal form of a man who whispered, "Thank God it's over," before succumbing to eternal slumber. The little ball of light laughed shrilly before zipping away out of sight.

Coiling his rope, Erik replaced it and sheathed the dagger. He didn't glance back at the prostrate man as he walked to where his white mask, now a little worse for the wear, shown in the light of the now descending moon.

"Bravo! You showed that," he glanced at the body lying in the grass, "Scrawny man who was boss. I swear he looked much more ferocious further back."

"Thank you for all your help, Philippe," Erik muttered.

"Anytime," he smirked. "Besides, you had things well under control."

Erik shook his head and turned to watch Christine emerge from behind the rock. She pulled her robe tightly over her shoulders and quickened her steps until she stood just in front of him.

"Are you alright, Christine?"

"I'm fine. How about you?"

"Fine."

Awkward silence hovered between the two of them as Philippe rolled his eyes. Without another word, Christine flung her arms around Erik's neck. Erik stood shocked for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, sighing with relief of all sorts.

"You two are mad," Philippe added, shaking his head with a small smile. "Of course, I'm not one to talk but all the same, we need to head back to the manor. The wolves left to regroup and likely won't return until tomorrow and I imagine that someone might be looking for Christine, I mean that was one heck of a screech." Christine gave a small embarrassed grin.

"And what the hell was that little sparkly thing?"

"Long story. Later perhaps. It is a manner of some importance." He returned his attention with a small smile toward Christine. "I'll see you to your room first." Erik swung Christine up into his arms and bounded off toward the estate.

∞†∞

Whizzing over the remains of the battle, one sprite surveyed the damage and awoke his brothers who had forgotten to leave the host before it died, resulting in temporary paralysis. They left to find new hosts of their own, preferably those with the ability to cause a little mayhem. This sprite in particular had a vendetta. Anyone who could refuse his control had a mark and were to be exterminated as soon as possible…plus it was fun, pure and simple, to toy with these creatures, the more powerful the better. After all, power corrupts; absolute power is kind of neat.

Smirking, or as much as a small ball of light can smirk, he made his way into a room in a rather lovely manor and found his object sitting in a chair next to the door of another room, trying to fend off sleep. The sudden light in the hallway diminished as the sprite settled behind Raoul's ear, resolving not to act until tomorrow.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress Rambling:** One thing sorted out, another thrown in the mix. I was just looking back at the beginning and finding it strange that I ended up here...it's been quite a trip but I do have an end in sight...not exactly sure when but it's still there. 

Regardless, **_Love it or hate it, please let me know! _**(Reviewers recieve an official Erik & Philippe Fanclub sprite-catching kit, complete with enough foil to protect your head from not only sprites but falling sateilitesplus a selection ofvarious other spiffy tools.)

Take care, everyone.


	27. Completion

Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own it. Hopefully you would have figured that out by now but just to be sure...yeah. ;)

Hey all! This fic is now a year old! That being said, I felt I had to update now...because I'm not sure when I'd get to it tomorrow.

Short chapter but for those of you who have been aching for some EC interaction, here you go; I've been agonizing over it, trying to set it right and not too much or too sappy or all that.

A thousand thank you's to everyone who's reviewed. I never expected this much response (though I confessed that I half wished it) but I'm positively thrilled. Thanks for putting up with me when I get caught in this fictional place called the "real world."

Please, enjoy!

* * *

Philippe waved goodbye (shaking his head and rolling his eyes) as he went for the door to the cellar, leaving Erik to see Christine comfortably back. With one strong leap, Erik soared up to her balcony and set Christine on her feet again though she stayed within his arms. 

He glanced down at her. "Go and make sure you're not missed, then we need to talk."

She nodded and poked her head out the door to glance down the hallway. Raoul was at his post and stirred when she slowly closed the door.

"Christine?" he called uncertainly.

She grimaced lightly, sorry to have awakened him.

"Yes?" she questioned back in a sleepy voice.

"Is there anything wrong?"

"No, just a bad dream. I'm fine now," she replied certain to interrupt herself with a yawn for added effect.

"Are you sure? I tired to open the door and… Is there anything I can get you?"

She went to the door and met his worried face. "I'm fine, Raoul. Really. You should go get some sleep." He raised a hand to her cheek and followed the line of her cheekbone.

"If you say so," he agreed. "Goodnight Christine."

She watched him wander down the hallway, making certain not only that he didn't just curl up on the hallway rug but also that his door closed behind him.

When Christine turned around, Erik had an odd look on his face.

"Don't look at me like that, Erik. No, I haven't told him anything yet."

Erik's face darkened so subtly that Christine almost missed it.

"Please don't be like that. Raoul and I will have a nice long chat in the morning and work a few things out."

"I see," was all he said.

"I swear I will take care of it."

"Christine, I hate being in this state of uncertainty. Whatever you've decided, I doubt that bothersome little—"

"Erik…" Christine warned.

"—_gentleman_ would appreciate it either, whatever your decision is."

"First off, I appreciate that you're taking Raoul's feelings into account."

Erik raised an eyebrow at the implication, "Perhaps I merely dislike duplicity."

She waved it off, "Even if that's not exactly for those reasons, I appreciate it anyway. And secondly, I have made my decision."

"And?"

She bit her lip and Erik closed his eyes briefly. "You've got to let me say this my way, please?" He nodded, not taking his gaze off of her, one mask of white next to a mask of emotionlessness. She took a deep breath. "I've spent a long time thinking about this and I realized that I've debating about this much longer than these past few days. It's not fair Raoul and it's not fair to you and it's driving me insane. Part of me has been considering leaving and starting over somewhere else, but I wouldn't want to lose two people that I really care about and I don't think you would ever let me up and disappear." She smiled lightly and Erik had to concede her point; even if he didn't seek her out, it would happen. "When I thought you'd died, perhaps it made things simpler for a time but it tore me up inside. But that night…that night back at the opera when I kissed you…" she stopped for a moment, flustered and searching for words while Erik continued to watch. "I've really known for a long time. It just took a while for the rest of me to figure that out. Please don't leave me again, Erik. You may be a vampire but the scary thing is, I don't care. As long as it's you. Just you." She threw her arms around his torso, "My angel," muffled by his clothes.

Erik grasped her shoulders with his hands and held her at arms length. "Christine, are you certain?"

She smiled warmly. "Yes, Erik. I love you."

He stood still for a moment then slid his hands up to cup her face, moving in with a smooth step to kiss her tenderly. She was surprised for a moment before she responded by melting into his embrace.

Suddenly Erik broke away and made for the door.

"What's the matter?" Christine asked, crestfallen.

"Nothing," he replied, walking back over. "I'm locking the door this time. I'm damn tired of being interrupted every time we're together."

Christine chuckled as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "So am I," she whispered against his lips.

"Will you leave with me?" he asked breathily. "Be mine forever and always?"

"Do I have to sing it for you?" she smirked.

She was so maddeningly close, screamed Erik's mind. "Perhaps so. Maybe later," Erik replied before ending the conversation with a full, deep kiss.

Her lips weren't enough; he wanted to taste more of her. He slid his arms down her back and trailed kisses down her jaw and her elegant neck.

Hours, minutes, seconds, neither kept track. Christine tugged at Erik's shirt and ran her hands across the smoothness of his chest and back, frowning in light confusion when she encountered scars but she knew enough of Erik's past to assume and was more than a little distracted as she shuddered against him. Finding his mouth again, Christine took his lower lip, teasingly. Erik sighed heavily and kissed her again, unable to slake his voracious hunger for the taste, the touch, the feel of Christine. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, trying to regain his breath.

"I love you, Christine. No matter what happens, please remember that."

She smiled fully, reaching her eyes with a delightful glow. Just when it seemed he had regained it, Christine stole his breath away again with another kiss.

He rested his head against the crook of her neck while she ran one hand through his hair and the other roaming contentedly along his back as Erik let out a deep sigh. He jumped slightly as he felt a light pressure at the base of his neck. Grinning, Erik returned Christine's playful nip, just above the pounding pulse beneath her skin. She bit harder and Erik gasped in light surprise, too lost in his emotions to really comprehend; he retaliated. Christine broke skin, so did he.

Christine stumbled back a step, her eyes wide with realization. Erik gazed at her, struck again by how beautiful she was, even in her disheveled appearance…and a small smear of his own blood left on her lips. Swallowing compulsively, he realized he likely reflected the same. He was about to wipe his lips clear of any remnants when Christine came forward again, crashing down and removing any evidence her own way. Erik pulled her deeper, lost in the proverbial set of clouds that closed in whenever Christine was involved.

She drew back after a moment, a minute…something like that. "Erik…I…I feel faint."

Mildly confused, Erik eased her to the bed instructing her to lie back.

"No, it's not like that, Erik," she protested, sitting up again. "There's something else. I…I…" She trailed off, her eyes rolling back in her head. Christine slumped against Erik who instantly yet gently set her head on a pillow, propping her feet up with another folded pillow with hopes to increase circulation to her head. He fanned her, flecked drops of water from a nearby pitcher, called her name, but she didn't stir.

Then realization struck Erik. It was unlikely that she would wake until the morning. The third criteria…complete.

* * *

**Authoress Rambling:** Yep, there you have it. No backing out now, Christine. :) Don't know what else to say. Thanks again to everyone.

As always: **_love it or hate it, please let me know! _**(Reviewers will recieve not only an official Erik and Philippe fanclub commerative platefor this speical moment but a box of limited edition Erik and Philippe brand band-aids to cover up those vampire bites with style.)


	28. Complications

Disclaimer: I'm writing on FFN...shouldn't that be a clue?

Hello all!

Sorry it's short but considering that my schedule might pick up a bit in the next week or two I figured I might as well get this out while I could. Short but with some important stuff.

Many thanks to all those who have reviewed. I never really expected so much responseand I truly appreciate it.

Anyway, moving on...

* * *

The cellar was a small place for aggravated vampires. Some lay dying, some lay with desperate hopes of recovery, some nursed wounds, some leant against the wall, some still paced about the room, Ezekiel moved from one group to the next humming a little tune. Philippe moved his hand gently over his old bandages, none of his injuries much improved, and closed his eyes. With a sudden jolt, he snapped his eyes open and stood a little taller before the sensation passed and he relaxed again, a smirk settled firmly on his face. Now there were soon to be two vampires in Christine's room. The others would find out later, Philippe reasoned, keeping his information to himself for now.

Ezekiel plodded over: "You know something," he chirped.

"Perhaps I do."

"Don't worry. I won't tell," he promised, grinning wildly.

"We wouldn't want to spoil it anyway."

"Have you ever noticed that your teeth are really pointy?"

Philippe glanced at Ezekiel, whose eyes were glazed in an odd manner.

"Have you found some old wine hidden down here that I've missed or are you really off your rocker?"

"Yes and no," he replied, momentarily serious. "You should fetch him before someone else tries to. The girl will be fine for a while."

"How did you—"

The look of concentration melted from Ezekiel's face. "How did I what? Didn't you have somewhere you said you needed to be? The tooth-puller might take an extra tooth if you're late. He can file those sharp teeth nice and flat and proper."

Philippe raised an eyebrow but then succumbed to a hearty laugh before slapping Ezekiel on the back and making his way toward the stairs. Crazy, perhaps, but he did get a point across when he needed to.

Closing his eyes, Philippe reached out with his mind, searching for the right room. Satisfied, he opened his eyes and marched determinedly four rooms down and cracked the door open slowly, just enough to slide in. Erik stood with his back to the door but was aware of an intruder. When Philippe placed his hand on Erik's shoulder, Erik grasped it and twisted it sharply while Philippe sunk to one knee.

"I relent! I concede! I surrender! Let _go_ of my hand!"

Erik released him. "You know the saying, better safe then sorry."

"You knew damn-well it was me."

"All the same, you shouldn't sneak up on people…especially those who know where you sleep at night."

"Harsh. I'm so glad that you're on my side, threatening to kill me in my sleep and all that. With friends like you, who needs—"

Erik shushed him with a finger to his lips, inclining his head toward Christine's body.

"Why? She'd sleep through the apocalypse at this point. Not that I'd want to find out, mind you. Watch. CHRISTINE! Wake up! You're on in five minutes! See? Nothing."

Erik rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

"You should come downstairs. They'll be wondering about you soon, Sebastian saw us coming toward the manor earlier, all _three_ of us, mind you. Plus, you were going to explain the strange ball of light?"

Erik nodded slowly then glanced back at Christine.

"She'll be fine, Erik. She'll be out cold for another hour or two at the very least. There's nothing you can do, might as well appease his high-and-mighty, Donald."

Pulling the blanket across her body, Erik kissed Christine's temple and murmured a promise of return before following after Philippe back to the crowded den.

None acknowledged his presence immediately until Donald strode over, obviously displeased. "Do you care to explain?"

Erik met his glare with equal intensity and bit back a retort. Donald stood motionless for a moment then smacked Erik smartly across the face. Erik slowly turned back and placed his mask back in proper alignment.

"Don't do that again," he hissed.

"You will _not_ order me. Where did you run off to this time?"

"I chased after one that ran from the fray."

"And you didn't return?"

Erik didn't answer the question but altered the subject. "The werewolves aren't responsible for their actions."

"Have you any proof?" Donald asked, anger deflected for the moment.

"Sprites. They're forcing the transformation and directing them."

"Aleta, can you confirm?" Donald shot over his shoulder. Aleta straightened a bandage on an unconscious vampire then rose elegantly, carefully calculating Erik.

"He speaks the truth."

"Damn," Donald muttered. "Did anyone else witness anything peculiar tonight?"

"Before or after they started using tactics?" Sebastian grumbled. "No beast that dangerous should be so clever."

"Describe exactly what you saw," Donald ordered, sharing a significant look with the other elders of the Circle.

Erik sighed but saw it best to cooperate for the time being. "It was a ball of light that came out from behind the werewolf's ear. It talked to me, I'm not sure how. It tried to get into my head but—"

"Then he could be infected," someone exclaimed.

"He's not," Ezekiel blurted in the middle of a giggle.

"But anyone could be," Erik added.

"I see," Donald deadpanned, fingers steepled together against his lips. "And you have brought their anger upon us?"

Margaret leapt up, "What have you done? We can't fight them."

Dane ushered her back to her pallet.

The thoughts clicked together in Erik's mind. Philippe spoke up first, "So this has happened before."

No one had to confirm it, the truth was plainly writ on their features.

"The werewolves will regroup tonight and likely rally their forces, though I daresay some others will have added to their number, werewolf, human, or whatever else the sprites have taken. We'll stay here for another night then we'll find another haven. No doubt they already know our hiding place. Everyone who can't survive the journey will have to stay here."

"How do we know that they won't come looking for us before then?" Annabelle called.

"We don't," Dane added simply.

A thought struck Erik: "What about the other people in the house?"

"What about them?" Sebastian bit back, sharply. "They'll slow the monsters down."

Erik's features darkened and Sebastian wisely didn't say any more.

Ezekiel disrupted the tension with a strange cry of "Ack!"

"What's wrong?" Donald asked.

"He's not supposed to be here…" Ezekiel spoke carefully, as though analyzing each word.

The door to the cellar burst open. Irving dashed down the stairs. "Vampire hunters! Looks like the Belmont family…"

"Oh, this just gets better and better," Sebastian muttered.

Annabelle sighed, "We're lucky to have gone this long without being found out."

Ezekiel reached over and snagged Erik's collar, pointing a gnarly finger toward Irving, "He's infected." Erik nodded his understanding and Ezekiel let him go, returning to his own world.

Donald left Dane in charge and went to speak with their host. All that were able readied themselves for the possibility of invaders, blending carefully into the shadows and waiting.

Donald returned a few moments later, trying to suppress his frustration. Those hiding returned and awaited their commands. "I was too late. He's already offered them a room. The Baron hasn't betrayed our presence but this won't make matters any easier. No one will leave the cellar for their own safety and the safety of everyone here." He looked pointedly at Erik, "No exceptions."

* * *

**Authoress Rambling:** Of course, Erik is just going to listen to that edict and behave like a good little boy...don't worry, he won't take that crap for too long.

Next chapter will start with Christine...once I get to writing it. :)

And as always, **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_** (Reviewers recieve authentic creepy candelabras that stay lit regardless ofwhether it's been submerged in a lake or sitting on your dining table, compliments of the Erik and Philippe Fan club)


	29. Nothing could go wrong today

_Disclaimer: Alas, still don't own it. New stuff is mine, bizarre-o circumstances would be my fault as well. _

Holy cow! I can't believe that...400 reviews...I never thought I'd see the day...you guys rock my world. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed in the past.

Alrighty, here's another chunk. Finals are coming up for us over here (even though most of my buddies are already out, Jeeze) so we'll see how updating goes.

Starting off with Christine...

* * *

Christine opened her eyes then quickly snapped them shut, trying to will herself back to sleep in order to fend off the pounding migraine in her skull. The maid had courteously drawn the shades and any other day Christine would have appreciated the sunny view from the balcony window but today…_oh, not today_ thought Christine, not fully realizing that "never again" would be far more accurate.

"Christine?" Meg's voice chirped from the door. Without waiting for an answer, she swung the door open and walked in. "You've slept half the day away."

"Could you close the curtains?" Christine asked weakly, her vision blurring; even with the blanket over her face the light was unbearable.

Meg's tone shifted, "Christine, is everything alright?"

"Please, just close the curtains."

Meg immediately rushed to the curtains and Christine sighed as cool darkness replaced the cheery warmth. "Shall I call a doctor?"

"I don't know," Christine replied honestly, gritting her teeth together as her head continued to pound.

Meg left without another word, shutting the door a little louder than Christine would have liked. Some time later, Christine having no real concept of time in the midst of her migraine, the door opened again. Someone seized her wrist and held it in one hand for a moment then yanked her eyelids open with a thumb while she moaned.

"Mamma, what can we do?" Meg pleaded.

"Fetch some cool cloths and keep your voice down."

Meg immediately saw to her mother's commands while Madame Giry focused her attention again to Christine.

"Is that a new mark, Christine?"

"Mmfph?"

"On your neck. There's still dried blood on your nightgown."

"Could we talk about this later?" Christine whined, again yanking the covers over her head, thereby missing the baleful glare from Madame Giry that assured her there would be much "discussion" later before she stood and left the room. Meg passed her mother on the way in with a puzzled glance but set the cool compress against Christine's forehead after gently tugging the blanket enough to reveal her pale face.

"Meg?" Christine murmured, "I just need to get some sleep. I'll be fine."

Meg nodded. "Call if you need anything, Christine. I'll explain to Raoul."

Christine cringed momentarily remembering what she had to do but Meg missed it, already close to the door and shutting it quietly behind her.

Christine closed her eyes, trying to will the pain away but the effort of concentration seemed to make things worse. She opened her eyes widely as if unbelieving the force of her headache before shutting them hastily against any semblance of light. Cradling her head in her hands, she pleaded silently that it would end soon. A scream resounded from another room but she lacked the capacity to focus on anything coherent. Mercifully, Christine fell asleep and the pain began to ebb away.

∞†∞

"Oh, John!" Meg gushed, "Of course I'll marry you!"

An expression of heart-felt delight settled across the Baron's face as he accepted his fiancée into his arms, laughing joyfully. They broke apart just far enough for the Baron to lay a gentle kiss on her brow before settling into a tender kiss to her lips. He slipped the ring, his mother's ring, onto Meg's hand while tears of joy streamed down her cheeks.

"Oh, it's all so sudden. When?"

"As soon as you'd like. I'll speak with your mother directly."

"My dear John, I never thought I could be this happy. Truly, nothing could go wrong today."

She kissed her betrothed who accepted her gratefully, pulling her deeper into the kiss, propriety be damned.

∞†∞

Erik heard a screech. Recalling his own transformation, he hadn't expected Christine's to be easy and had been waiting for some sign. However, he realized _before_ he made a mad rush for the door that it was someone else's scream, luckily, too, for Donald was watching him closely at that moment. He'd set his mind through a hundred different scenarios and made a few attempts to reach the door, only to be intercepted by a stony-faced Dane or the warning glare of another vampire.

Philippe watched Erik with a small smirk. "I know what you're thinking and I'm telling you it probably won't work."

Erik raised an eyebrow at the implication but waited for Philippe to continue, as he knew the man would.

"Perhaps if you had, say, a good friend who'd lend you a hand and, oh I don't know, _distract_ everyone somehow…"

"Perhaps if I had a good friend, yes," Erik replied, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly.

"Perhaps if you, say, made it worth this good friend's while…" Erik arched an eyebrow again. "Or perhaps your just lucky to have a good friend as it is," he added with a wider smirk.

"What would this friend have in mind?"

"I don't know. I was talking about Ezekiel. I'm sure he likes you a hell of a lot more than I do." Erik made a skeptical grunt and Philippe shifted his tone to a whisper. "I'm only going to do this once and you'd better damn-well appreciate it." Erik didn't reply immediately, still digesting the information and not entirely certain where Philippe was going with this. Philippe rose to his feet, muttering, "The things I do and no one appreciates me."

∞†∞

The migraine in Christine's head was slowly, blessedly abating. She sighed with relief when she removed the cool cloth from her forehead, blinking and trying to focus her vision. There was a sharp knock at the door and before she could inquire, the door swung open and Erik shut it quickly behind him, nearly snagging his cloak.

"Christine, are you alright?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes, my headache is nearly gone. How did you—"

"I'll explain in a moment. Now whatever happens next, don't scream. You don't want to draw attention to yourself right now."

"Erik, I don't underst—" She stopped and sank down to her knees. Erik ran over to her side and put one hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. The other hand remained steadfastly intertwined with Christine's hand though she was nearly cutting off the circulation to his fingers with a white-knuckled grip. Tears streamed down her cheeks and Erik whispered reassurance into her ear as agonizing seconds slowly ticked by. Finally, Christine's tension dissolved away and she leaned against Erik, lightheaded from the ordeal.

After a few minutes, Christine's curiosity had to be satisfied, "Erik, what was that?"

"Just your teeth settling."

"My teeth…"

"They have to change so you can feed properly."

"Feed? I don't…Erik, you can't mean…What did you do!"

Astonished, Erik watched as she sprang away and glared at him in shock and outrage.

"I thought that you understood."

"Understood what? What did you do to me?"

"Christine, for your own safety, you need to keep your voice down. Things will be better once you've had your first meal. There's someone else in the house, the Belmonts, they'll—"

"I don't care who else is in this house and I don't care who hears. I want to know what's going on, _now_!"

Erik gazed back at her forlornly, knowing full-well that this would not be easy for her and angry at himself for having not expected the revelation to be greeted in such a manner—not that he had expected joyous proclamations, something more like a grudging acceptance followed by a general gratitude acknowledging that they could now be together. But this…

Christine marched up and seized his collar…then gasped as she lifted him off the floor. Erik allowed it, noting that virtually any action on his part would probably be far from helpful. She set him down hastily then eyed her own hands as if they belonged to a foreign entity.

"How did…how..?"

"It's all a part of it, Christine. You're one of us, now. The two of us, you and me, are bonded forever."

Christine cradled her head in her hands and sat down on the bed. "This can't be happening."

"Christine…"

"I'm talking about my soul, Erik. What about my soul? Will God leave me?"

"I…I don't know," Erik admitted.

"I'll never see my father again," she whispered. "When I die, I'll be in eternal torment in the fiery depths of hell…"

"Christine, you won't die."

"You can't know that. Will God toss me aside if I pray to him? Do you understand what I've lost? What we've both lost?" Her voice was slowly escalating in her panic.

Erik tried to think of something to say, never a strongly religious man and desperately searching for some words of comfort. He thought back to some of her earlier prayers in the small chapel at the opera house but could think of nothing poignant to say.

"The Lord said that God would never leave us. But if I'm no longer human, what does that mean, Erik?" Christine sighed, closing her eyes tightly and trying to keep tears at bay. Erik sat down next to her, not saying a word but making his presence known and trying to be a source of comfort and stability.

Christine seemed to calm herself down after a few moments. She whispered with her hands clasped, "Nothing can separate us from God. There is no sin God cannot forgive of the truly repentant."

"Christine…" Erik soothed, moving a stray hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear.

"Don't, Erik. As much as I love you…I…I need time to figure this out. This is all wrong."

A sharp pang struck Erik's chest and he withdrew his arms from around her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized the change but the turmoil in the foreground distracted her as she sat pondering the consequences of eternal damnation and whether the hope and promise of grace passed to what she had become.

Erik watched as a shadow pooled near the door…then slid under it. Philippe shifted back into his proper form and adjusted jacket.

Erik smirked to himself, despite the circumstances. "How did you—"

"—if you ever speak of that incident downstairs to anyone, not only will I refuse to do you any more favors but you'll find yourself missing an ear and outside for your long and last glimpse of the sun. Just think of what a strange line that mask will make across your face."

"You offered to help, I might remind you. What do you want?"

"Out of time, Erik. They sent me to fetch you." He shifted his attention to Christine. "Congratulations! Welcome to the club." Erik gave a warning look which Philippe totally ignored (as usual). "What's the matter? Didn't take the news so well, eh?" Christine said nothing only staring forward at a place on the floor, still debating and praying silently. "We'll get something exotic in her stomach and she'll be fine. It's really not all that bad, Christine. Kind of fun actually."

She turned her head to look at him, disbelief etched plainly on her face. "I don't know if I'll ever be comfortable with _murder_," she said coldly.

"Okay…we'll lay off that until later," Philippe replied, mildly fazed by the look in Christine's eyes, mentally noting how fast a new vampire can master a truly frightening death glare…or that maybe Christine had it all along, just hidden deeply beneath her kind exterior. "Anyway," Philippe turned back to Erik, "You have to return to the basement."

Erik glanced back at Christine. "I'd rather not."

"You don't exactly have a choice. Christine, you'll have to stay here. Best that they have one last thing to worry about right now and the last thing we'd need would be a search party to wander into the basement, especially if that particular party happened to have…Oh, I don't know…Supplies to kill vampires, perhaps? You haven't met the Belmonts before, Erik. They don't stop. And before you make any snide comments, I'm going to insist that we go now." He started pushing Erik in the direction of the door, using all of his acquired strength to budge him slowly. "Just tell them that you left in search of a maid, considering how hungry everyone is they might actually believe you…except Aleta, and Donald of course but you obviously don't seem to care too much about what he thinks. As much as I'd enjoy seeing him hang you by your ankles, or at least try to, I think it's best if you keep your distance."

Erik shrugged away from Philippe's grasp and walked back over to Christine, eyes having not left hers since the beginning of Philippe's rant. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Christine. We have a chance now."

He cupped her cheek and she automatically leaned against the caress. "I just don't know what to do," she admitted.

"Rest now. We'll figure this out somehow." He kissed her forehead and allowed Philippe to pull him out of the room.

∞†∞

"…So that's how it's going to work."

"Perfect."

The owner of the first voice smiled. "I couldn't agree more." He shifted his attention to the third figure, "And you? Any insight you can give us on those in the basement?"

"I don't think anyone suspects me yet. They think this person is still mourning under some psychosomatic trauma brought on by a werewolf attack some time ago. Wonder if that was one of ours."

The owner of the first voice nodded his head. "Could have been."

The owner of the second voice questioned anxiously, "When can I lead the raid on them? When can I start the battle in the cellar?"

The owner of the first voice sneered. "Calm yourself. We wouldn't want anyone to overhear. Be careful not to let this eagerness or the original personality override your will, it only leads to problems."

A different voice called down the hallway: "Raoul? Where are you?"

The first voice rolled his eyes. "It's that girl again. Go back to your positions and be ready. You will now when it's time."

The other two men nodded, before heading off into different directions.

Meg ran up to Raoul's side. "Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Oh, just walking around."

She took hold of his arm and walked down the hallway. "I have some good news and some bad news. The Baron and I are getting married!"

"Congratulations," he replied, far from sincere.

"And Christine isn't feeling well, I'm afraid. Mother was going to check on her soon."

"I see."

Though Meg was confused at Raoul's lack of concern, she said nothing and instead led him to the sitting room. Something didn't feel right. Perhaps they had had a fight but surely nothing that couldn't be easily cleared up, Meg mused. Still, Raoul would have normally shown more anxiety. Meg pushed the thought from her mind, instead smiling warmly at her fiancé when she saw him reading near the large windows.

She didn't notice the peculiar smirk on Raoul's face…nor when he slipped out of the room.

∞†∞

* * *

Authoress Ramblings (because I do that): Alright, I'm no expert on theology when it comes to vampires but I just wanted to throw it out there that if anyone does have some random questions about God or Jesus, I may not know the answer but I do have some connections. Just to throw that out there.

Random Outburst: And I appreciate you, Philippe!

And as usual, **_Love it or Hate it, Please let me know! _**(Reviewers recieve copy of the secret videotape with Philippe's distraction)


	30. Waiting is the Hardest Part

_Disclaimer: Same thing, only different. Credit to other people except for what isn't. Yes, vaguely specific I am today._

Hey all! Again,a thousand thank you's to reviewers! Last chapter, I fully intended that Philippe's distraction would be left to reader's discretion but I kept on getting requests for what really happened. Maybe I'll write a mini-episode and post it as a one shot...or several variations of said theme...depends how this summer works.

Alrighty, my goal is to finish this story by the end of the summer but between all the random stuff I've been doing with my folks and a new job, we'll see how it goes.

Enjoy!

* * *

The small smile that had held on Danielle Giry's face slowly melted away as she reached Christine's door; her little girl was getting married but she still had her other charge to speak with. Knocking sharply on the heavy wood, she creaked the door open and entered the shrouded room.

"Christine?" Mme Giry sat down next to Christine's bed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Madame Giry. I'm feeling much better now."

Mme Giry glanced at Christine's face, noting that she did not look at all well. "Is there something on your mind, Christine?"

She didn't say anything for a moment or two but after some gentle prodding she soon collapsed into Mme Giry's arms.

"There, there, my dear. What's _really_ troubling you?" Danielle was at a momentary loss, not expecting Christine's strong reaction. "What has happened now? Tell me everything."

Christine wiped her eyes and sat up, beginning her narrative tentatively if a bit disjointed. "Erik came back. And I wasn't sure what had happened. The first time, I didn't know who it was until later. The second time, I was amazed that he was alive and solid again. This time, I can't make a true excuse. He bit me and I _let_ him. And now…well…" She tugged lightly at her upper lip and revealed a vicious fang. Madame Giry immediately shifted back in her seat, her eyes wide. "I didn't know this was going to happen." She chuckled ruefully. "I guess I had no suppositions about the future at all." Sighing heavily, Christine continued with an odd half smile, "It does make my choice all the clearer though, Raoul and I aren't even the same species anymore."

"That didn't stop you from seeing Erik. I remember when you came to me, that day before you left town."

"I can't deny that. But I've come to understand since then that, well…perhaps this is where I was meant to be or really where I've wanted to be."

Mme Giry studied her for a moment. "I can't say that I approve of this development for either you or Erik." She sighed heavily. "But you seemed resolved to this so what has upset you?"

Christine chewed on her lip and Mme Giry protested the abuse, still uneasy about the issue of blood and not desiring that it be brought up if she happened to gnaw through her lip. "Vampires are creatures of the devil, that's what I remember hearing from the stories of my youth, wandering about with Father. I don't know what's happened to my soul. If it's still mine or whether I've lost it. Is God still with me?"

"Oh, my dear," Danielle wrapped her arms around Christine again. "Nothing can separate you from God. You should never worry about that; He will never abandon you. Your soul is still where it always was; you still have your conscience and your heart, I can see."

"What about confession? The legends said that vampires wouldn't be able to enter a church."

"You'll find a way, my dear. But I tell you that God will continue to love you."

Christine nodded dumbly, still absorbing much of the reassurance that she craved. "I'm still not sure though; I mean this is so much all at once. I…I don't know if I'm ready for this sort of life."

Mme Giry hesitated, still wary of the whole ordeal, but answered regardless, "I doubt you're the only one. Likely there are some who are still unsure?"

Christine smiled, understanding. "Thank you for being there for me."

"But of course, my dear. As much as I would love to take both you and Erik by the ear and set you down, I do hope that somehow this whole mess may clear up. I still might have to give Erik a good talking-to, actually." Christine chuckled lightly, well aware that she would do just that given half a chance. Mme Giry's focused again on Christine, quirking an eyebrow: "I trust you have spoken with Raoul?" Christine bowed her head and blushed slightly. "This is something I will not let by, now or ever. It's not fair to him Christine. You should speak with Raoul."

Neither one of them had noticed the figure who had just slipped into the room until he spoke up. "About what, Christine?" The ladies jumped and Raoul commented, "I did knock."

"We didn't hear you, Raoul," Christine replied.

"I'll leave you two to talk. Can you behave yourself without a chaperone for a few minutes? I fear my daughter needs that supervision more so at the moment."

Christine glanced at Raoul and tried to shrug away a nagging feeling that something wasn't right in the man's eyes before nodding to Madame Giry. "Perhaps we could talk later."

"Of course, Christine," Danielle smiled before excusing herself.

Once the door had closed behind the woman, Raoul turned back to Christine: "Now what is it that you needed to tell me?"

Christine hesitated, naturally finding it difficult to put such a matter delicately.

Raoul took the opportunity to assume: "I trust you're concerned about setting a date for the wedding?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"Ah, it's really not a problem at all. We can be married immediately…or skip right to the wedding night if that's your pleasure. I knew that all you really needed was a change in scenery."

Christine stared for a moment, certain that something in Raoul's brain had shifted and perhaps altered his memory. Either way, it was obvious that something was wrong.

"Actually, Raoul, it's—"

"Oh, of course, you'll want to be married in the church in Paris where all your friends from the opera could attend and envy the most beautiful and fortunate bride of the century."

"Raoul, the church probably won't—"

"I'm sure it won't be an issue for me, dear. How could they refuse? The De Chagny family have been supporters of the same church for generations."

"That's all very nice, Raoul, but—"

"Oh, I see. You don't want to be married in a church. Well, that can be arranged, too, in a short order—"

"Raoul! I can't marry you."

That statement stopped his chatter quite effectively.

He dropped his head. "I had feared this for quite some time," he murmured. "Never outwardly but it's always been there, deep down. Will you really abandon me, Christine?"

Guilt clenched around Christine's heart and choked her words. "I'm sorry, Raoul; please believe me in that."

"You wouldn't have to be sorry if you kept your promise, you harlot."

Christine fell back as if struck. This was not the Raoul she knew…a fact further confirmed when he raised his head and looked at her with a wicked gleam and a twisted smile. "I've seen the looks you give the Baron. Trying to steal your best friend's lover, now that's despicable. I know you've been mooning after your masked demon. He won't be alive much longer, Christine. There are many ways in which to fulfill this promise, do you have a preference? Undoubtedly, I would enjoy any of them."

"Raoul, what's happened to you?" Christine stood with eyes wide, backing away from the imposter, a strange sense of menace exuding from his stalking figure.

"What's happened to me?" the contorted voice of her childhood friend mocked. "Just a little shift in perspective, I suppose you could say. Either way, I've come to take what's mine."

Bumping into the back wall, Christine feared that she understood precisely what the man intended. Mustering her courage, she began, "Erik will come and—"

"—all the better, my dear The more grief I cause that _thing_…all the better." The man who was Raoul but decidedly not Raoul leaned in sharply to kiss her forcefully but Christine ducked under the arm he had rested against the wall and ran for the door, crying for help. A rough hand closed over her mouth while another gripped her wrist harshly. She struggled hard, elbowing him in the gut and mashing his toes, but he would not be moved.

Then Christine's _other_ instincts kicked in…and she bit down harshly into Raoul's hand, taking time to savor the taste of fresh blood before he wrenched his hand away. Realization seemed to stun them both momentarily, Christine for what she had done and "Raoul" for what he now understood.

The man chuckled in deep, menacing tones. "So he made you one of them, did he? This is just too rich. I should very much like to introduce you to a few friends who happen to be staying in this very house, Christine."

Certain that she wanted nothing to do with this new Raoul, let alone any of his friends, Christine only watched him warily from the other side of the bed.

The other occupant of the room laughed again. "For now though, I suggest that you remain in here. In fact, I insist upon it." The corners of his mouth curled up in a malicious grin. "I'll return later, when you are feeling better and more receptive to visitors." He glanced at his still bleeding hand and yanked his handkerchief out of his pocket to wrap the wound. "Oh, and one more thing. I would advise not only that you remain in this room, especially after your illness this morning, but that you don't accept any other visitors. Rest assured that someone will be watching your door to see that you are not disturbed. Humans and vampires alike, we will know how to manage them." With a mock bow, he turned and closed the door behind him.

Christine sighed with relief, resting her head in her hands and trying to fend off a headache after that moment of adrenaline. She wished fervently that Erik had been there and that she could warn him of this potential danger. Clasping her hands to her chest, Christine prayed.

∞†∞

"Something's wrong," Erik murmured under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"Christine's in trouble. I can feel it."

"Aw, she's a big girl…well actually she does seem to find herself in a lot of these tight little spots, doesn't she? First a murdering phantom, that same phantom again but with fangs, werewolves…Perhaps she's turned into a magnet for bad luck…or maybe it's just you. Either way, it seems to have the same result."

"Something's wrong," Erik insisted.

Philippe continued, "I guess that kind of falls in with the whole Blood Union bond thing—"

"Keep your voice down," Erik hissed.

"It doesn't matter. They'll figure it out soon enough. Seriously, keeping a secret here is damn near impossible. Remember that Aleta knows when you're lying and that tends to contradict a lot of cover stories. Trust this voice of experience. Besides, Christine probably just walked near some bath water that was a little too hot or picked up a pair of scissors. She has friends to check in on her so what could get her here?"

"Werewolves did once before."

"I suppose that's true. But the whole stealing a hostage in broad daylight is above even the level of werewolf. Hopefully she's chosen her friends well enough—though she still keeps company with my brother, and you for that matter, so I'm not sure what that says about her judgement…anyway hopefully her friends won't allow someone to waltz into the manor and walk out with an extra passenger tossed over their shoulders. Though I suppose if you found a large potato sack…"

"I'm going to her," Erik announced.

"Look, if you're expecting me to pull a stunt like that again, you can shove that idea firmly from your twisted mind."

Erik froze for a moment as his gut feeling amplified. He could almost feel something gripping his wrist. "Someone's threatening her."

"You know, I could catch glimpses of it when you skulked through the passages of the opera house and even when you glanced over your shoulder at every slight sound or even an auditory hallucination but now it's fully confirmed that you are indeed paranoid."

Erik rolled back his shirt sleeves to his elbow. "Is this a manifestation of my paranoia?"

Large red marks graced the pale skin of his forearm, unmistakably in the shape of a sizable hand.

"How do I know you didn't just do that yourself, spook me up a little bit?"

"Look at the angle of the grip, Philippe." Erik was right of course and Philippe scratched his head.

"Well this is something I haven't really heard about," he finally conceded. "You just can't do anything small, can you? Always has to be a weird manifestation of something or the wrath of the sprites or the woman in the spotlight so _everyone_ could see what was going on then turning her into something of darkness or being on the wrong side of the leader of those somethings of darkness. Even if you decide to lay low, chances are there'll be someone who wants revenge for what you've done at the opera house a hundred and sixty eight years ago…a son for his great-grandfather, probably, after a search that has lasted his, and his father's, entire life. Couldn't it just be simple for a change of pace?"

"Has this been on your mind for some time?" Erik inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps," Philippe admitted. "Everything you do or have any involvement in seems overly complicated and it makes me think too much. And before you make any snide comments on that matter, I'm going to point out that the mark on your wrist has faded."

Erik glanced down and saw that it was indeed true. He unrolled his sleeve and furrowed his brows…though only half was really visible.

"She's still afraid."

"Well, that's understandable. She doesn't know what she's gotten herself into. You heard her say as much."

"This is different."

Philippe threw up his hands. "Of course it is. We've covered your incompatibility with normalcy."

Erik gave a short chuckle. Warily, he glanced at the other inhabitants of the cellar, afraid to have warranted some attention. Only a few gazes met his own: Ezekiel's wandering eyes (naturally; he probably knew exactly what was going on, even if he seemed fascinated with drawing in the dirt of the cellar floor), an odd look from Irving in his own corner, a vampire Erik hadn't met, and an occasional leer from Donald accompanied with a calculating glance from Dane.

A different sensation struck Erik's mind. A warning. "She doesn't want me to try to see her."

"I won't even ask how you know that. It's much more fun to examine the different ways that statement could be interpreted."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Regardless of the watch on the door, I still wish to see her."

"Watch on the…just how complex is this little telepathic message?"

"Thorough enough."

"All the same, unless you can plan out the changing of the guards, you'd better just wait. Any action won't start until nightfall anyway. Donald won't be an issue, understanding that everyone will need to feed at once, especially since we'll be up against werewolves or sprites or unicorns or magic mushrooms or whatever the most recent disaster is." Philippe stretched out and lounged with his arms behind his head. "You might want to try and rest up a bit, that being said. Don't even start with me on that whole 'I will not rest until I am certain for Christine's safety' thing. That's where you were going with that look, I'm sure."

Erik said nothing, sure that regardless of what he said Philippe would find grounds for verification. Still, Erik had to acknowledge that Philippe was right, shocking as it was, in that all there was to do was wait. Chaos would come soon enough; it was just a matter of time.

Erik didn't notice, as he closed his eyes, the small smile working on Irving's face.

∞†∞

"Been quiet as tomb, sir. Not a sign of anyone but an old woman and a young girl with too much smile for her own good."

"Damn. I would have enjoyed a good excuse to leave his corpse in the middle of the hallway, after I killed the girl, of course."

"There's still time, sir."

"I suppose you're right. We'll just have to continue regardless, be ready for changes."

"Yes, sir."

Another man materialized out of a shadow and stood before the other two. "I couldn't understand what they were saying from such a distance but he was talking to that friend of his."

"My 'brother,' I believe…this body is confused, to speak the truth."

"Yes, that's the one. Anyway, no one really suspects me. I'm supposedly just out to make sure the font door will be closed firmly come sundown, make sure there aren't any extra visitors, according to the fearless leader," the speaker added with heated disdain.

"Alright, gentlemen, this is how we'll alter the plan…"

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress Rambling**: Is there enough tension yet? I can add plenty more... (smirk) No, Madame Giry's not okay with this. No, Christine is not completely "fixed" but she's getting there. Yes, there are possesed beings walking about. Yes, Philippe is still awesome.

Happy Writing, Happy Reading, Happy Whatever.

And as usual: **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_** (all reviewers invited to vampire ice cream social...just because that sounds so good right now...with our favorite vamps up for Q&A...whatever will you ask them?)


	31. Things that Comes Back to Bite You

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except what is. I trust by now that you should know the difference. :)

Hey all! Again, a thousand thank you's to reviewers. I really do appreciate it. Special thanks to those who've stuck around from the beginning.

I'm going to be seperated from the internet and most likely my computer in general for the next week so I figured I had to get something out before then so I didn't get quite as far with this chapter as I wanted to. All the same, here's an update for now and hope everyone's having a happy summer.

As for this story, let the war continue.

* * *

Erik could feel coolness of the cellar, dryer still from how he'd lived in the opera house but humidity was to be expected on some level when one lives next to a hidden underground lake. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could sense Christine's boredom. Next to him, he could hear the gentle clink of Philippe's pocket watch as he yet again pulled the contraption out to check it. 

"Not long until dusk." He sighed and stretched. "Might as well enjoy the quiet for now. You'd better tell me how much you value my companionship now before one of us doesn't come back."

"You're not going anywhere."

"If one of us doesn't come back, rest assured that I intend it to be you."

"Your selflessness is heartwarming," Erik shook his head.

"Would you prefer a friend who lies to your face? Or rather, half of it, I suppose. I could generate plenty of empty endearments; you just have to ask."

What little chatter there was in the cellar suddenly stopped and Erik followed Philippe's averted gaze over to Donald who stood in the midst of what looked like a vampire refugee camp and clearly wanted to say something.

He cleared his throat. "As soon as the sun sets, those that are able will fan out and feed. We will all need our strength, even though we have gained a few stragglers. Finish quickly, no time to be fancy. Half of us will fight back any threat while the other will start toward the catacombs, taking what supplies they can and helping the wounded who can be saved. Any that can't make the journey will have to stay here. This stronghold is lost; they know where to find us and how to work it to their advantage. We have our shadows in the catacombs and they will be our advantage. We will divide you into groups and you will receive further instruction."

In short order, two clusters of vampires crowded around either Donald or Aleta. Erik held back, choosing to stand near the edge of the circle and wondering vaguely why he continued to put up with this nonsense. Naturally, he was picked to fight but he scoffed at the scared faces of the vampire militia.

"For those of you who were there for the first battle, the tactics are virtually the same. Our best hope is to find the leader. If we can take care of him, the hosts will all be momentarily stunned while the sprites decide a successor. If we're lucky, we can destroy many of the host bodies. If at all possible, strike at a free sprite. There is no way to kill it while it's protected by a host. When it feels that the host is in danger, it may try to leave so that it won't be stunned when the host dies. We'll regroup on the south side of the building after feeding. Don't deviate from this plan unless I instruct you otherwise. Is everyone clear?" Donald concluded in his subtle Scottish drawl. Most of the group eagerly nodded their heads while others, Erik included, only stared on impassively.

The cluster disbanded and all its members returned to their separate areas, readying themselves physically and mentally for the night ahead.

"Erik, a word," Donald demanded in a soft voice.

Erik said nothing but stood before the care-worn vampire.

"You've had some interaction with the leader. We're counting on you to recognize it if you can. Even though all sprites are driven by some strange malevolence, they do still retain unique personalities. If you see any sign, you know what to do."

Erik continued to watch him but nodded lightly in understanding.

"In return for your compliance, a few of the Elders and myself have decided to grant some clemency for the woman you seem to hold dear…but only if you follow orders. Know that by protecting us you will be protecting her." Erik's eyebrows rose momentarily (though only one was visible) but he nodded again; some motivation was all he needed.

Donald seemed to understand Erik's new loyalty and smiled to himself, assured that his little lie was well worth it.

∞†∞

Christine rubbed her arms gently, all too aware of the drop in temperature as the sun slowly set. She just had a bad feeling that something terrible would happen before the night was over. Leaving the windows by the balcony, she crept toward the door and poked her head out, searching for evidence of a guard. When she saw none, she took a deep breath and boldly stepped out of the room. Still keeping a wary eye out for anyone, she cautiously made her way down the hallway, hoping especially not to encounter Raoul…or at least whoever that man was who looked like Raoul. Christine shuddered, remembering. She had also seen something else when she bit his palm; she saw Raoul and then something with its own brilliance probing his mind. Stranger still was the voracious need for more of the slightly bitter sustenance, rich in an oddly satisfying way. The idea still left Christine in a general sense of disquiet, knowing that she shouldn't be craving something that by slaking her hunger could destroy another human being.

Christine was drawn from her thoughts as she heard voices, their owners moving in her direction. Though perhaps not the most creative of solutions, she ducked into a closet and peaked out the door, still not entirely sure to whom the voices belonged to but she could catch what they were saying.

"It's dark out. They'll be on the move soon."

"Yes. Don't allow them any rest."

"And the girl?" a third voice asked.

"Find her," the second voice commanded. "She can be used as leverage for either side. If we have her, it's our advantage."

Christine saw the speakers and was instantly glad for her choice to hide rather than meet the group head on. The first voice belonged to the creature that had lured her to the basement, still as handsome as ever, and would have led her to an early death if Erik hadn't been there. The commanding voice was that of Raoul though, again, it certainly didn't sound like Raoul in such a hardened tone. The last member of the group was a new face; Christine could only assume that he was another guest of the Baron's, meaning that he was with the Belmonts's group (and definitely not a servant, based on his garb).

"And the others?"

"Chances are, they'll be caught in the crossfire as it is," Christine watched as "Raoul" shrugged. "It is of little matter to us. Keep them if they amuse you."

Christine swallowed, disgusted with where the conversation was heading. They passed by the door but Christine stayed where she was. They would have no reason to think she'd hide in a closet so it was probably the safest place in the house…with the exception of Erik's arms, of course.

∞†∞

Erik wiped his mouth and settled the sheet over his victim, a young man that hadn't stirred and never would again. Another vampire, one he didn't know the name of with blonde hair trimmed short, finished off his own victim in the same household. He walked into the room where Erik still stood and waved his hand over the new corpse before pulling the sheet up; the marks on the victim's neck were scarcely visible and signs of sickness that weren't there before were obvious now. Erik looked at his new companion questioningly.

The man shrugged. "People see what they want to see. My illusions don't last long but they do come in handy, at least until they quarantine all the bodies or bury them in the same pit. With any luck, no one will be the wiser." Erik nodded in understanding. The man extended his hand: "Ben. From the Americas. Luckily I was on holiday when this whole incident began."

"Erik. Paris."

"Good thing Mother insisted that I study a few languages."

"Indeed," Erik said noncommittally.

"If you will excuse me, I've got to work my prestidigitation on quite a few more subjects tonight. We've got a lot of tracks to cover, after all. Perhaps you can tell me of the great city of Paris when we all regroup, assuming that we both survive this mess."

Erik, again, didn't answer but Ben wasn't fazed, instead nodding graciously and taking flight from the open window, off to another house. Ignoring the strange inkling in his head, Erik launched himself from the window, shifting smoothly into the form of a bat before his shape fell to the cool grass below; perhaps it was not the most subtle method for a vampire to travel but the odds were that most of the village would be dead before long. Again letting his mind wander, Erik let the air currents caress his temporary fur and whiz by enlarged ears while steering with the fragile membrane where his hands had been. Flapping gently, he landed in his full stature once more in the presence of a small gaggle of vampires that had already returned. Donald was there, of course, twirling a dagger distractedly, his mind decidedly elsewhere. Ezekiel was obviously mentally elsewhere but his presence was confusing, seeing as he was assigned to the other group; no one asked him outright, assured that he had his own reasoning.

"They won't wait much longer. I'm surprised they haven't ambushed us yet," Sebastian commented in a less than helpful tone.

"Be patient. They'll be nearly overwhelming us soon enough," a female vampire that Erik was certain he hadn't seen until that night spoke up. She looked as though she was quite accustomed to the battlefield, testing and checking the numerous weapons on her person. She caught Erik watching her and smiled. "Yes, I thought it was an odd gift for me of all people to receive but I dare you to find any who could best me at the sword, vampire or otherwise. I've had a couple decades of added practice."

She returned to her inspections and after holstering her pistol swished her sword about, readying her muscles for the oncoming battle.

"Oh, come, Carolyn, it's much more fun when you let others discover your abilities without warning."

She scoffed but gave a half-smile to another gentleman that Erik was unfamiliar with. "There isn't much time for sport, Roger. Besides, I'm sure our new comrade would be smart enough not to make any derogatory comments at a time like this." She raised an eyebrow, as if looking for confirmation before again resuming her task, stretching out in a polished lunge and skewering an invisible foe.

"As long as you don't stick me or yourself, I don't care what you do with it," Sebastian grumbled.

"Still trying to make up for what you said earlier?" Carolyn replied, "Because you're not helping yourself much. I'd be happy to force you to eat what you said an hour ago but one battle at a time is enough."

Sebastian murmured something unintelligible and Roger smirked. "I've ears like a hawk. Shall I tell the lady what you said or hold it over your head? Either way, the ordeal should prove most entertaining." Sebastian scowled and while Roger laughed, Carolyn trying to wheedle what was said out of one of them.

Roger's laughter was cut short and he cocked his head to one side. "They're coming," he said. He gestured to the east of where they stood. A few more vampires joined the group hastily (Ben being one of them, already appearing slightly worn from using his skill on so many bodies) as they all began to march determinately toward their foe. Scouts flew ahead and whispered their findings back, heard only by Roger's uncanny ears.

Donald nodded his head grimly. "They're sure to know we're coming so be on your guard. Good luck, everyone. We will regroup and head toward our camp an hour before sunrise in case we need to lead them in circles beforehand. Ideally, we would prefer to leave while they're stunned. If we run out of options, make for the catacombs. Once you arrive, rest; the group already there will be defending our position from whatever threats they can and they will send reinforcements when need be."

All too soon, they came to a hill. The scouts and even the stench and growls audible to everyone now further confirmed what lay just over the ridge. The group was hushed, reflective on the battle ahead. Erik couldn't help but mentally acknowledge that now would have been the opportune time for a smart-alecky and somehow entirely unhelpful comment by Philippe, had he been present; he shook his head, fully certain that Philippe was not the best of influences.

"They may be aware that we're coming but we can still surprise them," Roger spoke suddenly.

Donald raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Instead of this hasty, head-on tactic, we should split into two groups. Half should pretend to take the offensive but stay far back enough to use some of the ranged weapons in our limited arsenal. The other half should slip into shadow and attack from behind. The advantage may not last long but it's the best chance we've got."

Donald nodded, "Yes, let's make it so."

Erik, who had already assumed to make full use of his shadow form, stood to the side as other tactics that had already long been thrown out the window were brought up again; there just wasn't enough time nor enough knowledge of surroundings or the enemy in general to form a working plan. Erik acknowledged that Roger held some expertise in the area for whatever reason. Pity that he couldn't have arrived sooner than he had; even with Donald's command and Dane's impartiality, they still depended too much on those more skill and foresight in strategy. Or foresight in general, even when it came from someone as quirky as Ezekiel (who was tapping everyone on the shoulder and either waving and grinning or facing the individual with a questioning look as though his shoulder was the one that had been tapped). Somehow, Erik knew what was happening and wondered with a growing sense of dread which face Ezekiel would present him; Ezekiel was predicting who would survive the ordeal.

He came up to Erik last and prodded Erik's shoulder gently then grasped it as Erik turned to face him, his eyes oddly focused in their nearly colorless intensity: "Remember what Sancha told you, 'Watch out for your rival.' There is much that could go wrong. Don't believe all that you see." He closed his mouth for a second and cocked his head to the side. "All the King's horses and all the King's men," he murmured just as his eyes glazed over again and he smirked at Erik before waving genially.

The rest of the group had finally decided on a basic plan of action, though in actuality it was little better than what they had before, the free-for-all-help-others-when-you-can-hail-Mary-and-pray-we-make-it-out-of-this-alive sort of plan. Erik pushed Ezekiel's words to the back of his mind for the moment, instead focusing on the task ahead. He took a deep breath and melted into shadow, along with half of the other vampires present (too small a number, unfortunately). The shadow vampires followed in the wake of the other vampires at first, not wanting to give away too much, but if the vampire's shadow touched that of a tree limb only a keen eye could discern as the vampire enshrouded in shadow slid along.

While the fronts of two sides snarled and glared at the other (some possessed humans stood alongside the maliciously smirking beasts), many werewolves mysteriously lost their footing and pitched forward. The werewolves that didn't react quickly enough found a spike of silver embedded in its back as the shadow gained height and form. Erik watched as one wolf rolled out of the projectile but received a silver bolt from Carolyn's crossbow before he could raise much further from the ground. She took shot after shot with an accuracy that Erik had to grudgingly acknowledge as excellent. One werewolf released a blood-curdling cry as he slashed at the vampire who had tripped him, deep cuts already bleeding freely from the man's chest. The battle had begun.

Erik sank to shadow. Protected by his lack of body, he slid along the carnage, over ground and body alike. His conscious thoughts were lost in the thick of emotion and instinct. One creature sprinted after Ezekiel (who ran with an expression of one who knows he has just done something very naughty…knowing Ezekiel, Erik subconsciously mused that he'd probably pulled on the werewolf's long ears) with claws sharp and ready until Erik jerked him backwards by the neck, courtesy of a strong noose. He reeled the monster in with his vampiric strength, needing nearly every bit when it began to struggle. Erik pulled the rope tight but just before the werewolf's eyes clouded in death, a bright searing light sprung out of the its head. The monster fell limp and melted into the shape of a woman, unconscious rather than dead, and Erik dropped the scantily clothed woman unceremoniously, instead chasing after the sprite in earnest.

The speck of light was annoyingly agile in the field, zipping by a human and a vampire locked in mutual chokeholds and whizzing around the power struggle between another vampire struggling against the strength of the werewolf's paw to plunge a shard of silver into the beast's heart; however, Erik's feet hovered over the ground as he glided, dodging all obstacles as fluidly as possible though brushing past a few too many closer than he'd have liked. The sprite was slowly loosing speed and Erik dove after it, clasping the bit of light between his palms before screeching to a crunching halt on the hard ground, bits of dirt flying everywhere. He peeked at his prize, like a five-year-old wonders at a freshly caught lighting bug on muggy night in August. Suddenly, a high pitched shrill met his highly tuned ears and Erik was suddenly very aware of the apparent quiet around him. With a strong kick, he pushed off of the ground and held his position barely out of the werewolves' reach, trying to muffle the sprite's distress cry by covering his hands again. The other vampires recovered quickly from their astonishment as the enemy's tactics switched so drastically and resumed the attack, glad for the enemies continued distraction.

The sprite's voice cut off abruptly and Erik nearly dropped it when he felt tiny teeth sink into his finger and miniscule claws maul at his palm. The werewolves and inhabited beings stretched and jumped, trying to aid their comrade but helpless to reach Erik (who had risen to a higher level, knowing full well how high some of the werewolves could leap). Thought it was rather unsportsmanlike, Erik crushed his hands together and smothered the creature. Howls of rage rang out from below and, if it was possible, the bloodthirsty snarl darkened in the faces of his enemies.

Caught off guard, began to tumble toward the earth as a werewolf leaped up and clamped its jaws on his ankle. Instantly, Roger and Ezekiel were on the ready to defend Erik who was in certain danger from more than death and mauling at the least from vengeful possessed beings. Erik knocked the beast unconscious and watched as it slowly slunk back to the form of an ordinary man (once a farmer, by the look of the shreds) and moving the man's head away from where the vice-grip on his ankle had been before rising to his feet to face the horde, all of which were assaulting with an added frenzy as though they were somehow afraid.

Erik grinned to himself, planning to use whatever advantage he could. Since they were exposed, each would have less incentive to stay in a dying body (rather than suffer a stun and remain anonymous) especially when finding a fresh body would lead to a better chance of survival…if they could make it that far. Another squeal of protest diverted the attackers' attention once again; this time the ball of light was clasped between Ezekiel's hands, his eyes focused as he grinned ruthlessly. He mashed his hands together with a vicious grinding motion as more monstrosities bellowed in rage. Ezekiel's eyes unfocused and he waved before leading a pack of angry monsters on a chase that would have been comical in nearly any other situation…and if the beasts following closely on his tail weren't flecked with bits of rabid drool and pounding mindlessly on all fours—they even tried to be clear and cut him off but he only laughed and avoided them with a strong leap and flip over their head.

The vampires again took best advantage of the circumstances, the diversion weakening the focus of the threat. Erik made his way through several attackers and fought in closer proximity to Donald, shouting, "The leader isn't here."

"Are you certain?" he shouted back, ducking a swiping paw.

"Yes. Can't say why but I am."

Donald nodded and resumed full attention on his surroundings and the battle. Carolyn on the left was receiving a wide berth from her latest target, after finally having learned from his predecessors who lay dead on the ground that too close meant death. Sprites had zoomed from three of her kills thus far and she prayed that there were other members of her side had taken the time to chase after them, far too caught up with her present enemy to hunt it down herself.

Two more sprites were destroyed and each caused the others resort to more frantic measures, either a handful of sprites breaking rank and making a run for it or lashing out in awareness of the corner they were steadily shoved into. Erik smirked as he grappled with a man who though he had increased feral strength wasn't strong enough; the sprite leeched out of him with little hesitation and he wilted to the ground. This time, the mass of light shot straight up, faster than Erik's long wings could flap after. A new sound pierced Erik's sensitized ears, this one still rather shrill but in broken spurts.

Erik recovered quickly, shaking the droning tone and struck the sprite with an outstretched wing and a screech of his own. Though his eyes were peppered with afterimages, he continued to follow his prey. Thankfully, he pulled away just before smashing into a tall man, someone the sprite had just claimed control over. He tried to flap out of reach but the man closed his fist, painfully pinning Erik's wings. He brought the bat close to his scruffy face and sneered. Erik could smell the cheap alcohol on the man's breath but a glance at the man's various pieces of gear made him rethink his original conclusion. Shifting into a shadow, he melted through the tight grip and went to find Donald, figuring that even he should know of this new development.

Erik didn't have far to fly; Donald was already eyeing the newcomers with an expression that bordered on fearful.

"Reinforcements, I believe?" Erik asked, dodging a wild swing from a bleeding werewolf.

"More than you know. That looks like half the Belmont clan."

"So the sprites weren't fleeing for their lives they were aiming for new hosts, hosts that know how to deal with our kind."

"It would appear so," Donald added, hurling his silver dagger into the back of a werewolf poised to deliver a brutal strike to Ben (who flashed an "ok" symbol and a grin before returning his focus on another opponent). "Be ready. Pass the word along if you can. Try and keep your distance."

Erik ducked as a bolt from a foreign crossbow shot over his head. "That may prove difficult."

"We're going to have to start toward shelter soon. We're running out of strength as it is. And the Belmonts are renowned trackers so we need to start a few dead ends if we expect any peace." Erik nodded and turned his attention to fending off fangs glistening with someone else's blood.

Time blurred together, intermixed with blood and adrenaline, and soon Donald was signaling the retreat. A sizable amount of ground was gained but it was impossible to continue the struggle in the daylight hours. They flew in circles and they doubled back, those that could make the journey anyway. Carolyn limped along half supported by Roger, Sebastian held pressure over a gash on his arm while another cut leaked down the side of his face, Ezekiel was leading their pursuers in another direction, Ben appeared weary but otherwise not injured (unless that was an illusion he chose to put up) and countless others had been left behind. Donald refused to let the group move in shadow form, certain that the Belmonts knew a way of tracking the presence of shadows at it wasn't worth the risk.

Finally, the half that survived rejoined with the second group, virtually collapsing on the dark dirt floor of the catacombs. A few lamps (and the gift of another vampire who could create his own independent light source) made the darkness workable for those still trying to accomplish something. Erik saw Philippe lounging against the far wall and collapsed next to him in an exhausted heap.

"Where is Christine?"

"Hello and I'm glad to see you're alive, too. How the hell should I know?"

Erik raised his head and searched the vampires in the cave.

"Erik, I'm here," a voice said next to him. Her dark hair curled in a familiar fashion and her smile gave strength to his tired smile.

Erik frowned suddenly. "This isn't Christine."

"Erik, what can you mean? Of course it's me."

"Ben! Get rid of this illusion."

The face suddenly melted back to Ben with his short cropped hair. "How did you—"

"Wow, you've got to show me how to do that someday," Philippe added unhelpfully.

"Where is Christine?" Erik repeated.

"I don't know, Donald only told me to pose for a while."

"As much as I'm sure you enjoy messing with people's heads, might I ask why? Or how the hell this all came about?" Philippe put in. "Did you really expect to fool him?"

"I was just following orders."

"A likely story," Philippe mumbled. "But we found you out so get out of here."

Ben nodded and went to his own corner, Aleta meeting him to tend to his wounds.

"What's that?"

"Another werewolf bite. Listen—"

"Wait, another one? Just how many are we talking? You could be infec—"

"That's not important now. Where is _Christine_?" Erik pressed.

"Alright, alright, let me see if I can find out." Philippe closed his eyes, probing out from the darkness with his mind. "Give me your hand."

"Why?"

"Nothing funny, I just think that the bond will help me out here."

Erik surrendered his forearm and Philippe smiled, having come to his conclusion.

"Look's like she's still at the manor."

Erik frowned, enraged that he'd been lied to. "Then that's where I'm going."

"Are you insane? The sun's due to rise in, oh, less than an hour; you'll never make it in time. Funny as I think it might be, you might not want to reduce to a curling pile of ashes. I don't think even Christine could accept you then."

All fatigue forgotten, Erik rose to his feet and marched toward the entrance.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Erik turned at Donald's icy tone. "Christine's not here."

"You can't leave now. They'll retrace your steps and find us all."

"That's not my problem."

Donald jerked at Erik's collar but Erik was too quick for him, tossing him against the wall.

"I'm going," he announced. Donald was too stunned to say anything as he fought to recover himself and Erik had already blended into the shadows, long gone and racing to protect what was important in the abandoned stronghold.

* * *

**Authoress Babble: **There we go, Erik finally gave Donald a taste of his comeupance which I'd been wanting to do for quite some time. More battles to be fought, more problems to solve, and Philippe's snarky humor along the way. 

So who's your favorite vampire, really?

And as always, **_Love it or hate it, Please let me know!_** (Reviewers recieve an autographed poster of all the vampire crew from this story plus a piece of Dracula's cape, courtesy of the Erik and Philippe Fan club, not to mention the limited edition Erik plushie with a light up sprite in his palm.)


	32. Questions and Shattered Glass

_Disclaimer: In another dimension, in another world, in another life I might have owned the original characters but, bittersweetly so, I'm in this dimension on this world with this life. SO...what's mine is mine and what's not is Leroux._

Hey gang! My computer and I were reunited, and the past two days my muse and I have been on good terms so here we are. A thousand thank you's to everyone who's reviewed! I never expected to get this much response and it certainly is nice. -:hug:-

Anyway, this chapter contains a piece that I've had in my head since nearly the beginning and I was really excited to get to it; you'll find out what it is at the end here.

Please enjoy.

* * *

Not for the last time, Christine wished she had a watch or at least that she had picked a spot within earshot of the Baron's ornate floor clock and its pounding chimes. Something told her (or perhaps it was just the screaming, though sometimes still muffled, voice of common sense mixed with survival instincts) that she should stay exactly where she was until she was found by the right people or the sun rose and she could invent several new excuses for staying in a dark room instead of her usual walk out on the grounds. Christine shifted uncomfortably in the closet bumping into a broom and scrambling to push the scratchy bristles from her face. She stretched out as far as she could on the floor, still stifled and not enjoying the moldy stench that lingered lightly in the air. All the same, she kept her ears trained for the sounds of any movement, aware that there was no safe place, only safer places.

Underneath the crack in the door, she could see that the hallway was beginning to lighten with the coming dawn. Christine realized that her friends would be much more suspicious if she went missing (and was found in a closet of all places) than if she remained secluded in her room. There was a strange tingling in the back of her mind and she awkwardly rose to her feet as the door to the closet was flung open and she blinked in the sudden light.

"Christine?"

Erik's concerned voice sent a wave of relief coursing through Christine's marrow; she responded with a warm smile.

"Come, let's get you out of here." Christine took Erik's outstretched hand, the feel of the worn leather against her skin a welcome familiarity. She took notice of his state of dishabille, from the worried look that glinted in the corner of his eyes when he scanned the hallway to the cuts that still bled visible through torn bits of his clothes.

"Erik, what happened?"

Erik sighed, relatively sure that blocking out Christine in the midst of the battle (having assumed that she would be safe with the vampires and concentrating his energy on fighting for her) had been incidentally mutual. He pressed a finger to his lips and led Christine back to her room before answering her question: "Fighting the sprites and the bodies they control."

Christine stared at him and blinked. Erik went on to explain the entirety of the situation which was met with a mixture of blank stares and slow nods.

"Well, given the circumstance I'm in, I suppose it's not far of a leap," Christine acknowledged when he was through. Erik nodded, relieved that she hadn't disregarded his explanation and that he didn't have to repeat the confusing details of the matter.

"So now what?"

"Well, you have to learn to be a vampire."

"But what about the sprites?"

"To hell with the sprites and to hell with Donald. Your wellbeing is far more important to me than his good opinion."

Christine couldn't help but smile, despite the circumstances, especially when Erik's lips came crashing down on hers as if to prove his declaration. She made certain he understood _her_ understanding and Erik felt her body rise against him. They broke apart abruptly when there was a knock at the door and Christine silently cursed whoever was on the other side while Erik slid gracefully into the mirror, hidden from Christine's angle. She took a moment to compose herself before responding with a quiet, "who is it?"

The maid entered and set the breakfast tray on the small table where the sunlight was just stretching to the rich wood of the polished top. Christine murmured her gratitude and the maid excused herself. With a small smile, she made her way to stand in front of the mirror just as Erik was extricating himself.

"Will I get to learn that?" she asked quietly with a twinge of excitement, motioning to the mirror.

Erik nodded slowly. "Perhaps. Philippe has said that not all vampires have the ability but I would be happy to teach you everything you'll need to know. Perhaps we'll discover your gift."

"Gift?"

Erik went on to explain, "Every vampire has a particular gift, some special ability. Philippe can sense other vampires, Aleta can discern the truth faced with any practiced liar, Sebastian had his bird to talk to, Annabelle and Irving have the ability to attract and bewitch the opposite sex…"

"I believe I have met this Irving," Christine added when Erik hit a lull. "So what's your gift?"

"Sancha says it's a further manifestation of my music, my voice."

"That's fitting. Who is this Sancha?"

"A gypsy called in to read the vampires."

"Did she say anything else?" Christine asked, unable to hold back her curiosity.

"She told me that I have a second gift though she was interrupted before she could tell me what." He met her gaze pointedly, "She also said that it was essential that you be turned and other bits of mystic rambling. I have my doubts about her abilities."

Christine nodded slowly, still trying to absorb all the new information falling into her lap all of which was quickly layering to be nearly overwhelming. "What's my gift?"

"I have no idea, my dear. My guess is that we'll learn soon after your first meal."

"My first…meal," Christine parroted hesitantly.

The corner of Erik's mouth quirked, remembering his initial reaction and finding Christine's timidity endearing. "Dearest I tell you, it will get better with time."

"I…" Christine bit her lower lip, "I still just need to sort this all out, somehow."

"I'm not sure how much time we'll have for that. Your new abilities will be further cemented with your first real meal, and with all these vampires, sprites, and werewolves running about I would feel much better if you could defend yourself should anything happen to me."

"Erik, don't you dare leave me," she whispered, running her fingers down his cheek.

He instinctively caught her hand, caressing it fondly as it still cupped his own cheek. "I wouldn't dream of such a thing." Leaning forward, he kissed her again. She moaned lightly and he ran his hands through her hair and down her back, lost in a feral heat.

"Some day, my dear Christine," Erik murmured, nearly breathless, "We'll lock the doors and make damn-well sure we're not disturbed."

Christine collapsed against his chest with a contented sigh.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door again; their ill-luck would have been laughable if the situation had been different but as it was, Erik dove into the mirror while Christine threw the covers over her clothes and feigned illness.

∞†∞

Ezekiel hummed to himself as he watched the sun rise a safe distance from its beams. A few of the others had quickly grown tired of his discussions with an old human skull that still formed part of the wall, jutting out enough to be visible and apparently enough to be conversed with.

Donald was naturally furious, pacing the dark tunnels with a stony expression. They had taken many casualties, even from those who had started directly for the catacombs (a nasty ambush that the Elders were ashamed not to have anticipated). A few shrinking candles lit the otherwise gloomy crypt, casting eerie shadows against the wall. The other Elders sat together, discussing their options. Another couple of stragglers had arrived the night before but still not enough to ensure victory or even strengthen many hopes. There were two real options: flee along the catacombs or fight in one last stand. Either way, several vampires were in no condition to do either. Ezekiel did a cartwheel over a sleeping vampire and plopped next down to Philippe who had just tucked the fob back into his jacket after checking his pocket watch in the dim light.

He sighed. "Think the psycho made it?" Philippe asked Ezekiel half-heartedly.

"Yep."

"Sure?"

"Yep," Ezekiel repeated, his grin broadening.

"Not a pile of ashes in the middle of a field soon to be fed upon by a random goat?"

Ezekiel's eyes shifted into focus momentarily. "Erik made it to shelter with minutes to spare. He's just biding his time now."

"Biding his time for what? Is he breaking up with Christine?" Philippe smirked but Ezekiel just gave him an odd look. "Alright," he relented. "He probably just has to help her get her first meal, right?"

Ezekiel's face relaxed and he nodded before his eyes once more began to glaze over. "Singing songs, singing songs."

Philippe raised an eyebrow but shrugged to himself as Ezekiel bounded away.

∞†∞

The day passed both impossibly slow and surprisingly quickly. Erik and Christine talked about all that was important and unimportant and other times they were simply content to wrap their arms around each other and stay in the embrace. Thanks to a conversation with Madame Giry, Christine was left mostly undisturbed with a "touch of the flu." One tense moment, Raoul's voice was audible saccharine sweet in his attempts to gain admittance but he was decisively refused by the still reluctant Madame Giry. Christine had related her story with the Raoul that was decidedly not Raoul, all the more poignant in the midst of stories of body-possessing sprites, and the rest was easy to guess.

Thankfully, the sun finally set and Erik took off as a shadow along the ground, pulling Christine behind him after acknowledging that she likely couldn't shift into a bat as of yet and Erik didn't feel he could explain _that_ matter as quickly as he'd have liked (doubting that the sprites would have given up their watch of the manor entirely). The couple made their trek in a new direction, praying to avoid suspicion. Erik's sharp ears picked up on sounds of scuffle in the distance, silently acknowledging that the battle between the vampires and those the sprites possessed had undoubtedly resumed. He pushed it from his mind with an idle thought of goodwill toward Philippe wherever the man was.

After a while, Erik and Christine found a small village and two men passed out in the alley of a tiny inn and a small shop of some sort. Grateful for their luck, Erik showed Christine what to do and to her credit she did her best not to squirm or otherwise appear squeamish. Erik licked his lips, swallowing the last remnants and relaxing in his satiation with a small sigh of contentment. He urged Christine forward.

"It's your turn."

"Erik…I…" she tried, though she soon found she could not finish a coherent sentence.

"Christine, you have to."

"I can't, Erik."

"It will get easier, Christine," he assured her quietly, pulling her close and laying a soft kiss on her temple.

"It's still a man's life, Erik."

"It's either him or you, Christine. And as I cannot live without you, I will confess that I'm a wholly selfish being and urge you to just get it over with."

Her bottom lip quivered and Erik could resist but still it with another gentle kiss.

"This is who you are now. I know you can do this. I refuse to let you waste way to nothing."

Still trembling, she took a few tentative steps away from Erik and leaned down over the man, already despising herself for what was about to happen. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down, the man jerking slightly but he was soon forever still. She released him and met Erik's eyes with a dazed look.

"So strange," she murmured to herself. "I'm a killer now," she added ruefully, averting her gaze.

"Only to survive, Christine," Erik whispered in her ear. "Come, we should head back to the manor. We should leave there tonight, go back to Paris. Get away from all this mess with the Circle and its enemies."

"I owe a few people an explanation," Christine said with little hint of emotion.

"The less truth, the better. And I think you can spare Raoul, with the state he's in."

Christine nodded and clasped Erik's hand with a small smile. "Things are going to work out, aren't they?"

He pulled her hand to his face and kissed it. "I assure you."

Melting into the shadows again, they took off back toward the direction of the Baron's manor. Erik could sense that Christine was still troubled with what was happening around her but was distracted from his thoughts when they both smacked firmly into an invisible barrier. The manor was just over the hill but Erik couldn't force his way past the wall.

He quickly resumed his normal form and squinted in confusion.

"Erik, what's wrong?"

He didn't answer her, instead trying to place his hand on the wall but finding nothing but air. Still puzzled he urged Christine to walk forward as they continued their journey. "Something is blocking us from moving in as shadows, they want to be able to see us."

"Who?" Christine whispered, her face paling slightly.

"I have no doubt that we'll find out soon enough."

"That you will," a voice to their left spoke up. The voice belonged to man Erik recognized with growing dread, one of the Belmont clan; it made sense now, the barrier was obviously one of their methods now exploited by the sprites.

"What do you want?" Erik growled.

"I'm just to hold you. Though," his eyes roved over Christine who instinctively clung to Erik, "the instructions regarding the female were…hazy, if you will."

Erik took a step in front of Christine and the man chuckled.

"I thought you'd be one to make things interesting."

"Christine, go inside," Erik commanded. "I'll find you soon."

She glanced over her shoulder as she ran, praying that she'd see her angel soon and unharmed.

Erik watched the man, secretly grateful that he had let Christine go, and sized him up. Certainly he didn't look like a formidable opponent, but Erik knew better than to trust in appearances. The Belmonts had a few tricks up their sleeves but Erik wasn't about to give him much opportunity if at all possible.

After a few moments, the man let out another deep chuckle and straightened. "So many ways this body knows to destroy you, but which one before I go after that little trollop?"

Erik's face hardened but he braced himself, trying to pull out his dagger as discreetly as possible and ready to fling it sharply in the man's trachea if he made another comment toward his Christine.

∞†∞

Christine shut the door behind her and made her way down the hallway, frantically trying to piece together in her mind where she could remain hidden. Moments later, she stood in front of the door to the cellar. She wretched the door open and virtually flew down the stairs and lit a lamp, breathing heavily and already anxious. The door was soon flung open, casting a bit of light into the darkness before it was bolted shut and a figure marched resolutely down the stairs.

"Erik?" she cried out with hope.

An icy voice responded, "No, it's your other jilted lover."

The shadows across Raoul's face only added to the sudden burst of fear in Christine's breast. She summoned her courage and demanded, "Leave me alone."

She started to walk away and he gripped her arm roughly. "Who said you could leave?"

Christine wrenched her arm away and moved out of reach. "I said leave me alone."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he replied with a mocking regret. "You see, I can get at Erik best by going after you."

"Why are you after Erik? What's he done to you?"

"Nothing really, he just wouldn't cooperate. Can't have him teaching anyone else how to dissuade us." Raoul shrugged. "Plus, we need something to do. Now come here. I've already told you that I don't tolerate stubbornness."

"Stay away from me," Christine demanded fiercely.

"Ah, but you didn't say please."

"Don't touch her," Erik roared, having entered from the outside cellar door where the stars were still visible since he didn't close it in his haste to step between Christine and Raoul.

Raoul, who was decidedly not Raoul, laughed. "I was afraid I'd have to start without you."

Without any warning, Erik flung the smirking figure against the wall.

He laughed again. "Even if you kill this body, I won't stop. None of the other sprites will either. You've been marked for destruction. I was just hoping to have some fun with it." This time, he lunged for Erik who produced a dagger (already stained with blood) and thrust it firmly into Raoul's arm. He hissed with pain but didn't lose his maniacal grin. "Go ahead and fight your lost cause."

They struggled again, unnatural strength against unnatural strength. Christine searched frantically for something she could use, anything that would help Erik. An old ornate mirror stood in the corner and other bits of random junk that had long been in storage cluttered together but no sign of a pistol or rope or anything other that objects that weren't practical to throw. Instead, she lunged herself, striking Raoul on his back, his head, and directly on the gash on his arm. He hissed again and tried to buck her off while still struggling with Erik and attempting to land a blow of his own. Raoul shoved Erik away briefly and struck Christine across the face. Enraged, Erik again dove for the man's throat only to be tossed off moments later.

The mirth had dissolved from Raoul's face as he looked down at Erik and Christine who had shook off her shock and kneeled beside him.

"I had hoped that I wouldn't have to resort to this. I must be out of practice…or perhaps it's just this body," the chilling voice from Raoul's throat murmured as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol with a shining barrel that caught the light from the lamp. "Don't look so smug. These bullets _can_ hurt you; a gift from the Belmonts." He cocked the gun.

Suddenly, he was caught about the middle as Philippe charged into him, pushing them both into the mirror that Erik and Philippe had casually discussed once before. Erik and Christine could only watch helplessly as both men slid cleanly into the mirror…which teetered precariously before shattering on impact with the floor.

∞†∞

* * *

**Authoress Rambling:** actually, I think I'm going to wisely abstain from rambling and just hide. (I know_someone_ isn't going to be happy with this.) Toodles.

And as always: **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_**


	33. A New Sense of Normalcy

Hello again, all. I'm not dead and offer no excuses only apologies on the lateness of this update. With a heavy heart, I also add that this is the last chapter, the Epilogue being half of this post. It's been a lot of fun and thanks so much to those who have read and those who have reviewed. -Hug!-

Disclaimer: Ummm...I haven't owned it so far so why would I own it now? Kudos to Leroux. Philippe is most decidely mine, character devolpement-wise, as well as Ezekiel...and several other random vampires.

* * *

The clamor of the skirmish suddenly fell quiet. All of those possessed by the sprites had frozen in place, not even blinking.

"Attack them!" Donald cried out, praying that they would have enough time to strike down a sizable number of possessable bodies before the sprites chose a new leader and resumed their winning attack. All the same, few vampires were quick to attack again, still perplexed by the effect. Carolyn merely didn't feel it was sporting and hung back though standing quite ready while Ezekiel was enjoying himself by poking an immobile body and watching as it did nothing. Eventually, they all struck their enemies where they stood…all but one, Donald noticed: Irving hadn't moved. Realization exploding in his mind, he called out to Dane (who was striking at the possessed bodies much closer to Irving than he was), "Irving's one of them now, don't hold back."

Dane nodded, not needing telling twice. A look that could almost be described as pitying on any other face flashed in his eyes as he drove a wooden stake (retrieved off of one of the fallen Balmonts) and shoved it firmly into Irving's chest, removing it with a sickening suction sound. The body fell to the ground and dissolved into dust and bones. All too soon, the sprites shook off their stupor and returned to the fray with renewed vigor and malevolence. Though about half of their number had been stunned by staying in those dying bodies, they still retained a solid position.

Abruptly, they shifted tactics: when the stunned sprites could move again, they moved into new hosts and soon it was vampire against vampire, the exhausted bodies of the now human werewolf hosts desperately trying to crawl out of the way. Allies were suddenly turned around and snarling in the faces of other vampires.

Donald tried not to notice the odds and where the tide of battle was moving though deep in his heart, he knew that they couldn't last much longer.

∞†∞

Christine buried her face in Erik's chest. Once he recovered from his shock, Erik knelt down and picked up a large shard of the mirror and set it in his pocket, eyes downcast.

"There's nothing we can do about it now, Christine. Come. We have to get out of this cellar before anything else finds us."

Christine took one last look back at the remains of the mirror and nodded, allowing Erik to guide her up the stairs. "What do we do now, Erik?"

"That sprite, that voice in Raoul was right. They won't stop. We've got to put and end to this now."

"How?"

"I intend to use my gift. Will you join with me? Perhaps this is where your gift will present itself."

Christine nodded with a smile. She wrinkled her brow in thought and spoke up tentatively, "Erik, if we could put all the pieces of the mirror back together…" she let her question die off, unsure of how to finish it.

"I don't know, Christine. It will have to wait."

She nodded again, acknowledging that there were bigger problems to be dealt with.

Only Christine and Erik remembered what truly happened after that. Pushing off of the ground, Christine gasped in delight as she and Erik flew over the countryside hand in hand. Then he began to sing. It was a soft song at first and Christine grinned, recognizing the tune as one he had written and only ever played for her. Waiting for her intro, she stretched her diaphragm and sang out, voices intertwining and echoing across the earth. Mortals heard and slept on in a quiet contentment; the vampires (even Ezekiel with an odd smirk) raised their heads to the sky and watched, captivated and motionless; the sprites, however, filed out of their hosts and danced behind them, rats following the Pied Piper of Hamelin.

Ultimately, the war was won from that moment.

Christine and Erik lead them on a flourishing path across the night's sky. The sprites' malice was lost as their shrill little chirps dissipated into little squeaks of joy at the bouncy tune. The spell woven over the helpless sprites was gleefully accepted, if cruel in its own way. Erik's notes lagged slightly as his mind raced, trying to conceive some sort of plan to destroy them all without breaking the spell's hold. He nearly lost his concentration entirely (caught wondering what Philippe would have said and doubting they would have found a rock large enough to just squish them all) when the first dissolved into smaller pieces and fell away into the night sky.

Christine gasped but resumed singing under an urgent, demanding look from Erik. Their audience below watched dumbly as the odd parade continued onward, one by one the lights flitting out into nothingness. Despite all that had plagued their minds for the past several days and years before, a sense of peace settled on the vampires. Donald had an odd look of amused satisfaction while the face Dane wore was considerably more forgiving than his usual expression. Ezekiel was the first to regain movement, dancing vaguely along with an odd grin in its usual place. Some of the other vampires moved to improve their vantage points, a couple picking up the pieces of the mess before them and sought shelter from the impending morning. The rest only watched. The lights continued to dissipate into the air and by the time Erik and Christine released the final note, the last had let go of its remaining bit of malice and had nothing more to hold it together.

Arm in arm, Christine and Erik landed softly on the grass below.

One of the vampires Erik didn't know started forward, "That was…it was…" He laughed. "I really don't know how to describe that."

Christine smiled shyly and Erik returned a secret smile of his own before it slid off his face as Donald marched up to face them.

"That was a bit anticlimactic, if you ask me," Carolyn said with a bit of a chuckle, wincing as she held her side.

"Well, whatever you call it," Roger entered in, smiling grandly, "It's over now."

"It's not," Sebastian grunted, still attempting to stop the gash from leaking through his fingers.

"What do you mean it's not?" Roger inquired disbelievingly.

"Just that. It's not over yet," Donald agreed in a tone that cut at the happiness the song had instilled in everyone.

No one asked why, caught between not wanting to be the one who asked and not wanting to know.

"It's not over yet," Donald repeated. "Think about it. Some of the stunned sprites were still safe within their hosts and they won't wake until the sun's out. Then God only knows where they'll be next. They might take a year to regroup, meet up with some of the others of their kind or just create several hundred more."

"But next time we'll know how to fight them, right, Erik?" Roger said jovially, clapping Erik on the shoulder.

"No," Erik stated plainly. Roger took his hand away, glancing at his companion uncertainly.

Donald's eyes flashed. "No?"

"I," he corrected himself, "_We_ don't want any part. I don't follow anyone's orders, least of all you. I will protect what is important to me."

"We're your kin, Erik," Dane said reasonably.

"And perhaps if it will mutually benefit us, I might be inclined to help if you ask. But I will not be ordered. A vast percentage of the sprites have been taken care of, I believe my share is done. This isn't my war unless they come for me again."

"They will, Erik," Donald shot back, a twist of understanding gracing the corner of his mouth.

"Then we might end up on the same side again."

"And if it's only you, should we come to your aid?"

"That will be your decision, kinship or grudge."

"How is that different than from what you propose?"

"I will not be ordered about," Erik repeated.

"Erik," Christine whispered urgently, "The sun will be up soon. It's best we leave."

"Take care of her," Donald said by means of a farewell.

"Of that you can be sure."

Carolyn and Roger gave Erik a much friendlier goodbye, wishing them both well before taking off after Donald and Dane. Even Sebastian gave a gruff adieu before fleeing before the dawn. Ezekiel sashayed forward and gave Christine a peck on the cheek. He touched her stomach briefly and she shot a confused look at Erik who, remembering who it was, stayed in his spot and shook his head. Ezekiel made his way over to Erik and took him by the hand. "There's no good way to cure hiccups but to forget about them. It's best you check the mirror again, you might be surprised. And I expect to be notified." Bemused as usual (such was the way Ezekiel's conversations turned out), Erik opted to thank him before taking Christine back to the basement of the mansion before the sun could ruin the success of the evening.

∞†∞

_Epilogue_

Sancha gazed into her crystal ball. It was a silly bauble perhaps but she enjoyed how the light reflected and sparkled off of the polished surface and the mystic mist. For the first time in a long time, however, she saw an entirely clear image. The poor gypsy gave a start at first, immediately recognizing the subject of her vision. Even though she and her clan had officially sworn off vampires, there was no mistaking this man, his white mask still hiding the shocking mutilation underneath (Sancha shuddered at the memory that unfortunately hadn't faded with time). Recalling back the details of this particular soul, Sancha put aside her revulsion and fear and instead watched the vision knowing that it was bad luck to ignore it. The man's face was still covered mostly by the mask but something was quite different about his face, the part that showed anyway. She couldn't put her finger on it at first. Sancha continued to watch as the subject rose from his chair and set himself at the organ, the corner of his mouth quirking up as though he knew a particularly juicy secret. She wondered vaguely if he ever discovered the possibility of his second gift. The man, Erik, was no longer alone as a woman sat down next to him, effectively distracting him from his work with a long, demanding kiss.

Sancha realized what was different then. When she had first met him, he was drawn and stretched thin with whatever plagued his life; now, though, it was remarkable what change a little bit of happiness made in him. Then the vision was gone, and, though perplexed, she resolved not to think on it anymore lest she attract the subject's attention.

Indeed, a gradual but steady and positive change slowly crept into Erik's life. As far as he was concerned, it was due to the woman who now stood beside him while they were out on an evening walk. It had been a romantic moment until a familiar voice demanded their attention.

"Hey, you two! It's awfully boring down in your pocket."

Erik sighed but knew that he would never shut up until he was somehow acknowledged. Christine shook her head with a smile as Erik pulled the shard out of his pocket. Philippe's face shone in the small piece.

"Much better. It's dull enough being stuck in a mirror for all eternity but if you're not going to take the time to entertain me, I might have to attempt something constructive." Philippe shuddered, smirk still fully set in place.

"If it weren't for Ezekiel, we wouldn't have really known that you were still around," Christine reminded him.

"Oh, come on, Christine. You don't believe his little phony fortunes, do you? It could have meant _anything_."

"Somehow, I doubt it. And what about yours? You told me about the mirror some time ago."

"Erik, I thought you would have had enough sense not to get sucked in…but then again I suppose I have known you long enough to not expect such things from you."

Erik sighed and rolled his eyes. They made their way down the familiar path, glad to see the lair again. Erik hung Christine's cape on a hook next to his own and immediately saw to the fire. Christine made herself comfortable with a light grin.

"You know, one good thing about this whole mirror business is you can't really retaliate."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He started to wrap the piece back in his silk handkerchief as Philippe protested loudly.

"Alright, alright! I get it. I'll try to keep it to a minimum. You can't expect any better from me than that and you know it."

"That's one way to put it," Erik muttered with a slight grin.

After shooting a disapproving gaze, Philippe continued (as he was prone to do), "So, why couldn't Ezekiel give us any good advice like how to get me the hell out of this."

Sebastian for all his cantankerous nature was quite knowledgeable about mirrors and his prognosis was blunt and bleak. "If it were possible, maybe he could have."

"Isn't it understood yet that anything is bloody possible?" Philippe grumbled half-heartedly. "While we were talking about the little psycho, has he popped by again?"

"No, not recently but he sent a message saying—"

"Oh, please spare me," Philippe waved off Christine's response. He changed the subject: "So, Erik, getting close to the full moon again."

The whole party seemed to glance down at the scars hidden by Erik's trouser leg. "We're ready this time," he stated plainly.

"Good. I caught a glimpse that first time and it wasn't pretty. Sure you were moody before but that was a little extreme." That day when Erik had flung his coat aside, Philippe's world had tumbled out of the pocket just enough to watch. Ultimately, the experience had not been as terrible as any of them had feared. Erik had been stricken to ground as his already long fangs grew longer with roughly the same sort of pain he'd experienced when his teeth had initially changed but what had truly frightened Christine was the way his eyes froze in a maniacal gleam and his mask (still worn for his personal security and further to protect the weak skin from the elements) clattered to the floor when his face shifted, the deformity stretching and smoothing out with the rest of his face. He'd snarled at everything and took his evening meal with a definite and cruel sense of…relish. Yet thankfully he retained most of his self, if the violent and irrational part of him, and had the sense to leave their safe haven for a little while, though Christine did not entirely appreciate being left at home, to say the least, and gave him an earful when he returned (after he had spent the day recovering, of course).

"It's the fourth time, Philippe," Christine chided. "We know what to do."

"Well, no one's bothered to tell me that."

"Back to the petulant sulking. You don't need to know everything and if you've enough sense to know when the next full moon is, perhaps we just assumed that you'd figure it out. I can see we've overestimated your intelligence," Erik replied snidely.

"Come in here and say that."

Christine just chuckled. "Both of you stop it. You should know by now that you can't stop the other."

Erik grinned sardonically as if to say, "my dear, you know that's not true" and Philippe's smug expression read much of the same. Christine was ready to throw up her hands and give up but a slight pressure in her abdomen distracted her. Gently lying a hand across her stomach, Christine excused herself.

"A certain little someone stomping on her bladder again, I reckon," Philippe surmised crudely. "I still don't know how that's even possible, Erik."

"Neither do I," Erik replied honestly. "But it is a miracle."

"I thought she'd want to be married first…"

"She did. We did."

"So? How could you take part in a holy ceremony?"

"Must have slept through that day," Erik remarked under his breath. "Well we couldn't exactly go into a church so we asked a priest to sign up the document. It's the best we could do."

"Wait, this must have been the day I was locked in that infernal box."

Erik's mouth quirked into a grin. "That could very likely be the case."

"You take far too much delight in locking me up. You've 'accidentally' left me different places too often."

"Perhaps," Erik shrugged.

Philippe huffed. "All the same, I still don't know how Christine could be expecting or how the child could even be alive, whether it'll be alive." A contemplative look passed over Philippe's face as he thought aloud: "Perhaps you were so twisted to begin with, you kept part of your soul and when you completed the union with Christine so did she…or maybe you're just plain weird."

"You told me once there was a lot of magic involved in being a vampire."

"All the same, when he or she grows up, assuming the child lives and ages and all that, I sure can't wait until you're driven insane by your own teenager."

Erik shook his head. "The way I see it, it's just another manifestation of being a vampire or perhaps the second gift the gypsy referred to. Besides, how can you still be alive in the mirror without anything to feed off of?"

"Touché, but I guess those are two things I merely shouldn't question. Though I could wish for better company."

Erik quirked an eyebrow once more.

Philippe chuckled. "Well, my brother's dead body is not one for conversation," he deadpanned.

"Honestly, Philippe," Christine walked back in, "That's no way to speak of the dead."

"Says us, if that isn't ironic."

"All the same, Raoul had a good heart."

"If not always the strongest brain," Erik muttered lowly, earning a snort from Philippe and a sharp glare from Christine. She soon relaxed her gaze and lay back on the sofa, leaning against the love she had once forsaken. The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, sending dancing shadows against the walls. It was good to be back in Paris again. Madame Giry visited occasionally and Christine was disappointed to have to turn down her daughter's wedding invitation but the sunlight and the church made it quite impossible. Meg did not fully understand, and for her safety the matter was never fully cleared up. Since her new husband whisked her away to her new home, she had no real opportunity to happen upon the truth for herself. Christine sighed. Life was not perfect but then again it was interesting and she was content.

Sinking against her husband's chest, which was warm from a fresh kill, she glanced up into his face and took off his mask. He leaned down and kissed her lips, his own curled in a smile all the while.

"What's going to happen next, Erik?" she whispered, a hand cupped around his cheek.

He placed his own hand over hers. "Christine, I don't know for certain—"

Philippe broke in, "Donald's going to pound on our door with some new infestation that he wants help with or we're all going to contract some odd disease that turns us all into sheep every third Tuesday or Ezekiel's going to cartwheel on in with another one of his purposely vague prognostications and…hey…don't you dare put that—" but the rest of what he was going to say was quickly muffled by the silk handkerchief and then the solid wooden drawer as it slid shut.

"Christine, I'm not sure what's going to happen but as long as you're with me, I don't care." Kissing her soundly, he hoisted her into his arms, both blatantly ignoring the indignant muffled demands from the desk drawer.

* * *

Final Authoress rambling: Ah, so it ends. Thanks again to those who stuck through with me.

On a semi-unrelated note, shards of Philippe's mirror go up for auction later today; take home a piece of him for your very own! Supplies are limited. ;)

And as always, **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_**

**_Happy Writing, Happy Reading, Happy Whatever!_**

**_-bobmcbobbob1, 12/07/06_**


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